#I’m so sick with the loss of the potential this show had in the beginning

[startedwellthatsentence]

Most of the way into a bottle of wine, sad that once again we lost a real chance at exploring polyamory in mainstream media*.

I want to speculate for a bit on what the intent of the final episode might have been, in the case where they weren’t (apparently) censored.

We KNOW that (the) Doctor Odyssey (writers room) LOVED direct parallels. Every character treating or dealing with a patient revealed their own internal truths.

Max saw in Ken a superficial hedonism that belied a deep seeking of self expression and understanding

Tristan saw the older cancer patient and her younger lover and saw his own relationship with Avery (and Max) — she was leaving at the end of the season, he potentially has a terminal illnsss

Avery dealt with the castaway woman who despite all odds survived to reunite with her husband

So what were the initial writers and casting directors looking for when they cast for 1x17-8? What parallels were they exploring?

Captain Massey’s is easy, as I don’t think they modified his much — that’s why his parallel still felt like the real Odyssey. The couple organizing the weddings weren’t right for each other, they worked together as business partners instead of romantic partners, so they’re getting a divorce. Massey shouldn’t mourn the loss of a romantic entanglement, and he gets to keep his ship. Easy.

Tristan’s is also pretty clear, when you cut away all of the pro-natalist bullshit that they replaced his actual plot with. (He was with the racist cryptic pregnancy and the midwife.) PARALLELS: Love can come from unexpected places. It is possible to care for people who you do not expect to be compatible with. Reacting poorly because of a romantic loss doesn’t make you irredeemable, as long as there are loving people who are willing to support you through the pain. You have to work on your own bullshit in order to be a better person, but lashing out, even multiple times, can be forgiven if you put in the effort. Sometimes unexpected love is hard work, but it’s worth the effort.

Max was with the talkative coroner. His is slightly harder to understand. (Potential) PARALLELS: the things you have identified as obstacles to your love life may not be insurmountable. (Max seems to think that his biggest problem is the running away thing, when it’s actually the “expresses his feelings as orders” issue.) Your tendency to interfere with others actually comes from a deep love. (The coroner wants to connect with people, even those he cannot reach — the dead, the non-English-speaking market seller; Max dispenses advice and mandates when he wants to show that he cares.) Pursuing your partners’ interests may result in relationship progress, even if it feels like a disaster at the time. (The coroner doing the hike and dinner and having it rained out parallels Max attempting a threesome with his poly love interest and the ensuing relationship drama.) Earnest attempts to communicate, however bumbling, can still have good results. (The lackluster Spanish resulted in human connection AND effective acquisition of medication. Max’s intent to communicate his needs with Avery being met with her frustration WAS more of a her problem, not a him problem, in the finale.)

Avery was with Dr. Aaron Samuels. Hers is the hardest to parse. Most of his time that was left in the episode by the time the finale aired was just exposition for the Max shit above. Potentially: he is a psychiatrist, which means he has an MD but doesn’t have much recent experience. He is a potential mirror to her future, as she may spend the next 2-4 years studying instead of practicing medicine? Maybe he wasn’t her parallel? The next option is the guy who went out of his way to go get his new stepdaughter’s book because it was a gift from her dad … except that was also made into a TRISTAN plot about how going to extremes to express your love can be dangerous, but ultimately fruitful, and how non-traditional arrangements can still be as loving as traditional ones. I feel like Avery didn’t GET a parallel patient for the finale, which may explain why she didn’t feel like she was learning anything or going anywhere???

Obviously, the finale sucked ass. It was awful. We only got HALF a scene that had ANY of the Odyssey magic (the “I would stay with you both forever in paradise” discussion, which they had to temper by MOVING TRISTAN A FOOT AWAY AND HAVING HIM CALL MAXAVERY CUTE 🤢🤮). But I feel like the bones of a good episode were there, they just didn’t get to actually make the episode they had intended. This was a drunken attempt to reconstruct the episode that would have made SENSE based on how the show used to work before 1x08.

*I also want to take a moment here to mention that calling Doctor Odyssey “queerbaiting” is bullshit. The secondary love story in the two-part finale was LITERALLY a gay couple. You children don’t have the capacity to realize how MUCH things have changed, that a gay wedding as the direct parallel to the main love story of this show was so uninteresting that the direct interference of the network barely noticed it. The plot that DID make it through was “Max/Avery, a heterosexual couple, should aspire to be as in love as these two gay men”. When I made this tumblr account, that would have been IMPOSSIBLE as a plot on network TV, and now it’s the LEAST progressive route this show could have possibly taken. The show didn’t queerbait, it queer-delivered. Unfortunately, the gay shit wasn’t the plot we were actually promised, and they UTTERLY failed to deliver on the poly shit.

[balillee]

my unpopular dsmp opinions, some of which genuinely should be popular

c!dream has crossed the moral event horizon and is irredeemable. once you cross that threshold, you're no longer a 'morally grey' character.

pre-recorded, heavily produced lore killed the lore. it was cool, sure, but you completely misunderstand the magic that the smp had when people watched it initially. the story is improv and that's how we like it. we can tell the cc's have lost interest in it, you can admit that to us, we'll understand, just stop lying to me.

c!dream's pov isn't necessary to understand his character or his motivations. if you've watched literally any c!primeboys stream he's basically spelled it out for you.

i don't understand how fans can dislike l'manberg or have claimed to be against it since the beginning. i honestly don't get it. what's so bad about wanting your own spot where you make your own rules and skirt accountability that has been used to technically oppress you before - and, before someone who never saw the earlier streams tries to disagree with this, the og l'manberg crew were imprisoned for shit that everyone else on the server was practically encouraged to do. also, what do you have against fun and happiness?

i think some of you forget that 'hybrids' aren't a thing, discounting c!ranboo. there's no piglin hybrids, c!techno is just a pig. there's no avian hybrids, c!phil is just a man with wings. there's no creeper hybrids, c!sam is just a creeper who's indecently exposed from the hips down. canonically there's no hybrids, and therefore no hybrid discrimination. people ran with that concept too much.

the loss and the fanon rewriting of the early lore up until pogtopia has ruined fandom perception of c!dream and the og l'manberg boys. c!tommy is more morally white than you think he is, and c!dream has always been a villain - he massacres and he kills and he destroys and he schemes and he always has broken his own rules. no wonder the boys wanted their own space after how they were treated.

i think ranboo oftentimes forgets his own lore. he brings stuff up that c!ranboo may have done, such as exploding the community house to frame c!tommy, holding onto Cat, and it goes absolutely nowhere. we've gotten all of these developments in his story but they have never been expanded on, and we're nowhere closer to figuring out his relationship to c!dream and what his other side is and honestly i see no hope that we'll be any closer to knowing even by the end of the year.

your characters don't all have to be morally grey for the story itself to be morally grey. this is fiction - some people can be nothing but evil and others can be nothing but good. being purely good or evil doesn't mean that you're one dimensional, either.

c!dream apologists have ruined c!dream for me. he's not a good person. how about you let me enjoy a villain for who he actually is, rather for than your percieved woobified ragdoll you pass off as c!dream.

the story was better when there was a central writer. it was brilliant back when wilbur wrote it to be that the environment drives the characters and the story, and it was really good in early s2 up until techno's execution day when it was more character driven. since then, the amount of autonomy people have over their characters without any central 'director', as it were, has been a detriment to the story overall. there needs to still be one overarching figure or director or writer.

not everyone is a main character. just because they have a pov, doesn't mean they're a main character. some characters have such little impact on the overall plot and describing everyone as a main character oversaturates the story and makes some characters seem more important than they are.

the egg lore had so much potential up until it didn't. all that built up threat that we were expecting and we still don't even know what the egg wants really other than just controlling people. does it hatch?

genuinely, if there's no major plot developments by the end of the year (and let's be honest, it's a very big possibility at this point), a few of the more prominent members of the server should do a podcast style stream talking about where the story would have gone, because at least then we would have gotten somewhat closer to a conclusion.

c!techno is a villain and an asshole and a bad person. he stops caring for people once their interests don't align with his or if they look at him funny. he makes meta-jokes about his own tyrannical and oppressive nature. stop taking that away from him. he's a bad person. cc!techno does a fabulous job portraying that in a comedic manner and the balancing of him being a deeply flawed person with deeply flawed morals and ideas with his comedically-portrayed stubbornness and lack of willingness to hear out opposing viewpoints is incredible. i want to like characters who are arseholes for the sake of being arseholes, and who refuse to take into account the hurt they've caused either out of self-righteousness or because they don't care, so let me. he's the anti-peacemaker, LET ME HIM ENJOY HIM FOR THAT!!!!

i think tommy and wilbur's way of doing lore is my favourite. relies heavily on improv, voice acting, sprite acting and facial expressions. really shows off the acting props and they pull off the emotional moments well for the insanity of the creative medium.

i'm not a fan of fan-music. i find songs about media i'm into difficult to listen to. coincidentally i'm also not a fan of shit like slam poetry or live music/musicals/pantomimes.

the death of l'manberg killed people's motivation to go on the server casually. i've talked about it more in depth before, but destroying what was a central, driving environment for the story killed momentum and motivation. imagine in an episode of she-ra, the princess alliance just nuke the freight zone and all of the members of the horde just have to deal with it. that would be shit.

until season 3 has some momentum, i'm counting the end of the smp as january 20th. that had a conclusion. season 3 has... whores, technoblade and tommyinnit. that's about it.

i wasn't a fan of the development of c!tubbo joining las nevadas. i preferred snowchester and the walled city conflict. give c!tubbo some backbone and some badassery. also tubbo where's the fucking nuke bro if you're shelving that plotline just tell us on like an alt stream what the plan was i beg

add like 2 or 3 new people to the server so that michael mcchill has someone to talk to and so that there's something always happening on the server. it gives the og's more motivation to return if things are happening in and out of canon and it'll help with momentum, and who knows? maybe they can write their own story/stories.

i really think that c!sam is an underrated character. he's multilayered, extremely interesting, and the dichotomy of his loyalty to his job and how far down the rabbithole that's taken him versus the genuine love he has for his friends that drives him to do what he does out of wanting to do right by them is brilliant. i don't talk about c!sam enough.

STOP HAVING FUCKING VILLAIN ARCS!!! I'M FUCKIN SICK OF IT!!!! i want to see more characters who see everyone else being absolute selfish, abhorrent cunts and go 'if nobody else is going to be a good person, i fucking will'. GIVE ME SOME MORAL WHITENESS!!! IT'S INTERESTING AND MORALLY GOOD CHARACTERS ARE FUN!!!

let tommyinnit build cobblestone towers. everyone bullied him too much for how ugly they were and the one he built outside of the prison looked genuinely really nice. it gives the boy something to do.

i'm a fan of the revive book and the canon lives system. don't ask me why, but i think it might just be the morbidity of it. it adds to c!dream's god complex persona, and i think the fragility of death itself is a really fun concept. not enough fan cc's have made connections with that and c!mumza, and it could make for cool fanfic.

ranboo your house is fucking ugly. it's an eyesore

c!niki, and to some extent now c!jack and c!fundy, are boring me and ruining my mood. i think c!jack is the closest to being an actually interesting sympathetic villain, mainly because nobody else seems to realise that c!niki is a villain. not a good one imo, but she's a villain. c!jack just has the problem of starting a new project over and over and over and over again and because of the slow in momentum for the primary cast, there hasn't been a lot of recent development for him.

not really a dream smp opinion, but if philza went full geordie accent, i would love it. i want him to, in canon, say shit like 'me n ye' instead of 'me and you' and use geordie dialect. i want him to be physically unintelligible because it's funny.

i don't really know what's up with c!foolish but i think he's a dumbass. he had a while to think about c!q's proposal and then changed his mind about joining the guy to admitted to letting him die just because. moron

i wish there was more c!eret lore. i wish he was an actual king with an actual kingdom and actual subjects and royal advisors. c!eret is far too fucking cool to be the king of nothing and nobody. fatten up the kingdom and the castle with people who work with c!eret, and don't just make it tyrannical and dictator-y to prove the point of the server's 'anarchists'. make it a healthy working environment, please - if you want moral greyness, have 'anarchists' who claim to care about the welfare of the server oppose a kingdom of happy people under a fair and just ruler because their ideologies clash.

the server needs more characters who oppose anarchy in more peaceful ways, or passively wish for systems to be a part of. i think a chaos vs order conflict ending only in mutual understanding where everyone understands that they should just leave each other alone would slot nicely into the story that's been created so far.

you need to have watched all of the previous arcs to understand the story. i've seen people argue that they don't need to know about earlier lore to understand the prison, but that's the equivalent of only watching the final season of pretty little liars and expecting to understand the context of what's going on.

some characters aren't that morally grey. some characters, take c!tommy for example, are definitely on the whiter side for the morality scale, he's just an asshole. he's abrasive and rude and a dickhead but he also doesn't agree with terrorism, he's patriotic, he strives for a better world, he's apologetic, but he's also a fucking BITCH.

you can add onto this if you want, but not if you're a c!dream apologist. nobody likes your opinions

[noforkingclue]

You Should’ve Ran (Zemo x reader)

Summary: There was a lot of this you should’ve done but now it was too late.

Warnings: Dark, non con, choking, poorly written smut, Zemo being an absolute bastard

Author’s Note: So this is probably one of the darkest things I’ve written. I also haven’t written anything smutty in ages so I don’t know how good it’s going to be. Please take note of the above warnings!

You should’ve ran when you had the chance. You should’ve packed a bag and ditched your home as soon as he let you go, but you didn’t. You were foolish, arrogant, you thought that you could beat him at his own game and now you were paying the price.

You should’ve ran.

But you stayed.

And now you were paying the price

You hated to admit it but you had gotten used to the staring, to the constant feeling of eyes on the back of your neck. The soft brushes in the crowd that you somehow, instinctively, knew were from him. The footsteps following you home at night even though you could protect yourself. In the beginning it felt like he was some sick, twisted protector. You were torn between craving his attention and fleeing, although you knew that running away from him would just start your cat and mouse game again. There was no escaping once he had you in his sights.

The one thing that still unnerved you was when you could tell that he had been in your flat. That was your one safe space again the world and for him to be in it without your permission felt like he was violating an unwritten rule. It wasn’t as though he had done anything dreadful (at least in the beginning) but it felt odd. When you walked in after a long day’s work and smelt his cologne or to wake up to a basket of your favourite pastries. It felt oddly intimate and you hated it.

However, things took a turn for the worse in the summer and when you finally decided to put an end to your single life. The date had gone well, very well, and you were looking forward to meeting him again. You had been so elated that you didn’t register that someone was in your flat until it was too late. You were slammed against your front door, Zemo’s arm across you neck. He was breathing heavily and his eyes half lidded. The warning was clear and he pressed harshly against you before letting you go. You collapsed at his feet gasping for air. When you tried to stand he put a hand on top of your head and pushed you down saying,

“Pets should remain at my feet and on their knees.”

The threat was clear but you were stupid enough to ignore it. You continued seeing your date until the notes arriving. The threats, warning you to stop seeing your boyfriend unless you never wanted to see him again, telling you (in explicit detail) exactly what he wanted to do to you. The handwritten notes made you blush as you read the graphic details and you swiftly crumpled them up and threw them away. This did nothing to stop him and it actually increased the frequency of the notes. But the one that made your blood turn to ice was one of the shortest. You stood rooted to the stop as you took in the neat script.

 You have one week to come to me, pet.

 It terrified you. The violent and lustful words written in such neat handwriting was an unsettling juxtaposition. You knew you should break up with your boyfriend for his own safety but much like everything else you had acted it was too late. You had turned on the news one morning and you dropped your coffee mug in shock. As you saw your boyfriend’s face on the screen and the news report calming stating details of the unsolved murder, you knew you had to leave.

It was late when you finally re-entered your flat after speaking with the police. It had taken longer than expected but at least now you were crossed off their list of suspects. You poured yourself a glass of water and took a large sip before putting it down and rushing to your bedroom. You grabbed your suitcase and started shoving clothes into it. You didn’t care what you took just as long as you left as soon as possible. You ran back into the living and paused. You stared wide eyed and slowly looked over your shoulder. A piece of paper was neatly tucked under the glass. With shaking hands you unfolded the notes and collapsed onto the sofa when you read it.

 I warned you.

 You finished the water in one gulp, grabbed your bag and left your flat and life behind. You ran out of your flat not caring who saw you. You needed to get as far away as possible but you knew it was too late. Zemo had you in his grasp and he was not going to let you go that easily. You shuddered as you felt his piercing gaze on you, even though you couldn’t see him, and you ducked into an alley in the hopes of losing him in the backstreets. You knew you had fucked up when the sounds of the city became muffled and all you could hear was your own laboured breathing and the soft click of slowly approaching footsteps. You took a sharp left and let out a cry of frustration when you ran into a dead end. You closed your eyes and felt the tears run down your face as you heard Zemo stop at the entrance to the passageway.

“Commendable effort,” he said walking towards you, “But really pointless.”

“Please,” you said quietly, “Please just let me go.”

“I can’t do that,” Zemo pressed his body up against your back, “I’ve given up so much for you already.”

Zemo put one hand on your shoulder and pushed you towards the wall. You let out a cry as you were pushed roughly against it and Zemo caged you in with his body. A fresh set of tears fell down your face as you felt his arousal against you. You shook your head as Zemo pressed a trail of kisses down your neck.

“This wasn’t how I intended things to go,” he said against your shoulder, “I wanted to take you away from this place, to take you in my bed. To shower you in the love and affection that had been denied all your life. You would want for nothing and all I require is one thing.”

You didn’t answer and one of Zemo’s hands snaked up and clasped itself around your throat. He squeezed harshly and you gasped in shock.

“For you to do everything I say,” he hissed, “To give me everything.”

Zemo’s other hand ghosted along the waistband of your jeans. You tensed before trying to shake him off. Even though you should’ve had super strength you found yourself weakened and you heard Zemo chuckle darkly.

“Is something the matter?” he asked mockingly, “You should be stronger than I am.”

The sickening realisation of what he did settled in the pit of your stomach.

“You drugged me.” You said weakly

“An unfortunate necessary,” he said, “But for me to take what I want I had to do it. If you had just come with me willingly, like I asked you to,” he squeezed your neck again and you whimpered, “It wouldn’t have been like this. I would’ve been gentle. I would’ve given you everything but instead you forced me to do this.”

His hand delved into your jeans and his fingers rubbed harshly against you. You cried out at the sudden sensation and Zemo cooed in mock sympathy.

“See how much easier things would be if you just submitted, mein Liebling,” he said, knowing how much you hated that nickname, “You would’ve been in a soft, warm, bed and not pushed up against this wall and being taken like a whore.”

“Please,” you sobbed, “Stop.”

Once against Zemo tightened his grip around your neck, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“If I were you,” he said quietly, “I would be quiet. Pets don’t talk back to their masters.”

Much to your horror Zemo didn’t ease his grip. His fingers continued to work roughly against you and when they circled against your entrance you tried to squirm away. However, there was nowhere to go. When you moved back you brushed against Zemo and you shuddered when you heard his soft moans.

“Already aching for me,” he said, “I can feel how wet you’re getting for me.”

“Stop.” You said weakly

“Never,” he bit your earlobe, “You need to learn your place in this world. Your place which is in my bed, under me, by my side.”

Each word was punctuated by his fingers slowly swirling around you. You shook your head and he growled before shoving a finger inside you.

“So tight,” he hissed, “So ready for me. You want me don’t you.”

“No.”

“Then why are you so wet.”

Any other time you would’ve gone on about biology but at this current moment, with his hand around your neck, you couldn’t get the words out. You didn’t need to see him to know that he was giving you the same mocking smile that haunted your nightmares.

“You want me,” he said as he slowly moved his finger in and out, “You need me. You crave this. What you need is for someone to take you in hand. To show you proper discipline and to raise you up to your fullest potential. Is what I’m asking for in return really that much? Your freedom for the world?”

Zemo loosened his grip and you gasped for air. His hand moved to your chin and tilted your head back so you were looking into his eyes.

“I don’t want the world,” you said, “I just want to live my life in peace.”

“I can give you peace,” Zemo said resting his forehead against yours, “I can give you everything.”

His fingers stilled and you whimpered at the loss of movement. He smirked at your reaction and briefly swiped his thumb over your clit. You jumped in his arms and let out a soft moan. In a flash Zemo had spun you around and pushed your back against the wall. His fingers started moving again and you gasped in pleasure.

“Just give in,” he said, “Just give in to me. I know you want to, my pet.”

“N… no.”

“Yes,” he hissed, “You do. There’s no point in fighting what we both know you want. What you need.”

“I don’t need you!”

“Yes you do,” he growled, “You just need to give into your desires and I will teach you to obey. Pets like you need discipline.”

“I don’t need-“

“I know what is best for you,” he continued, “I know what you need.”

Zemo roughly added another finger and our hands flew to his shoulders. You bit your lip to try and prevent yourself from moaning. Zemo removed his hand from your neck and pulled your lip free. He looked at you lips for a moment before leaning forward and capturing them in a rough and bruising kiss.

You tried to struggle free but Zemo firmly tangled a hand in your hair and kept you close against him. You refuse to open your mouth for him and Zemo growled against your lips. In response to your refusal to submit he brushed his thumb over your clit again. You gasped in pleasure and Zemo seized the opportunity to fully dominate you. You closed your eyes and tried to pretend that this wasn’t happening, praying that someone would find you and save you, but Zemo was making it impossible. He broke the kiss and placed a soft, mockingly loving, kiss at the corner of your mouth.

“Disobedient pets need training,” he said, “Time and patience is necessary but don’t worry,” his lips brushed along yours again, “We’re going to have all the time in the world.”

Your eyes flew open as Zemo added a third finger. Your hands tightened their grip on his shoulders and you collapsed against him feeling yourself get close. Zemo’s free hand stroked your hair and he whispered against your ear,

“There is no shame in giving into your desires. To take what you crave with the one person who can give it to you. I understand you, know you, better than anyone else. That boy you called your lover wasn’t fit for you.”

“He wasn’t… we never…”

“Good,” he said, “I would hate it if someone else touched you before me. It means that I can shape you into my perfect little pet. Keep you tied up and needy just for me. I’ll have you constantly on edge until you are begging for me. Tied up in my, sorry,” he chuckled darkly, “Our bed. By the end you’ll be pleading for me. You will come to me willingly or I’ll keep you bound and naked until you do.”

Your breathing became heavier as you felt the orgasm build up in you. Zemo exhaled deeply through his nose and rested his head on your shoulder.

“You’ve been a very bad little pet,” he said, “And I did think that deserves a punishment don’t you?”

You let out a cry of frustration as Zemo roughly pulled his fingers out of you. You sobbed at you lack of release and Zemo stroked your head in mock comfort. His hand moved from the back of your head to you chin as he forced you to look into his eyes. You wishes you had the strength to look away but you didn’t. You felt yourself started to fall and Zemo’s arm encircled around your waist and held you close to his chest.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, “Behave yourself and I won’t have to do that again. Soon you’ll learn how beneficial it will be to give in and forget about your concerns. It will just be you, me and our perfect family.”

You tried to push Zemo away again, the thought of being forced to have a family with him renewing your determination to get away. However, the sharp pain in your neck swiftly put a stop to your escape attempt. Your limbs started to feel like they were made out of lead and all you were able to do was collapse as your knees buckled under you. Zemo held you in his arms and gently cradled you as darkness took over. Just as you slipped into unconsciousness the last thing you saw was Zemo’s smiling face and soft whispers of how you were going to be perfect for him.

[spoke-n-languish]

My dear lady, and my enigmatic downfall,

By the way, as you read this, it should either resonate with truth (give or take some slight adjustment), or be completely off base and potentially offensive. If you feel the latter at all please do not take offense, I never intend that for you, and if I’m that off it is a sign of how much help I need. But, well here goes…

Somehow you have infected me. Negatively but also in a good way as well. You have hacked your code like a virus directly into my DNA. On one hand I can recognize that your father in San Francisco, possibly, 12941 653247 (Illustration) according to his web page is not dead. Nor was he a chef? …at least it looks like that credit goes to whom I’m assuming is your mother, 4842317 6247, and her catering business in Malaysia. Your name is not 424574514, and I cannot find a picture of you more recent than what you had posted when you were here with me, except for what 152937 8941237 6. 149164182 has posted, but I’m pretty sure that was just for a promo shoot, right?? Inexplicably, I am openly crying while I write this because of the pain of reopening wounds, the ache of loss, and the stabbing of regret and guilt on top of the pangs of love unrequited.

Why?

What did I ever do to deserve being lied to, manipulated, and robbed by you in such an incredibly intimate betrayal of trust that even looking back now, and recognizing that I don’t know if you ever once told me something that wasn’t a lie… and yet, I still love you?!?

When you first met me, I am assuming that it was Brooke or her associates that were trying to bait me into infidelity. I get that, but why these extreme lengths of faking your father’s death, and the insane period of threatening suicide over and over. There is no way that all of that was staged. Besides, you didn’t start 712432787 until 2018, so I’m thinking at least a couple months at the beginning, there must have been a real true emotional connection with you, because I cannot accept that a human could say the things you’d said and promised what you’d promised with heartfelt meaning that I know I felt.

I get that things didn’t always go so smoothly, and I apologize that I wasn’t given the opportunity to fulfill my vow to you in time, but I still have a million questions and this whole ending process has left me incapable of functioning properly mentally as I suspect I have succumbed to a more comprehensive dementia. (A couple days ago I borrowed chef’s truck and drove down to kealakekua because I thought you were in trouble, and then yesterday, I almost got arrested because I was led into a strangers house where I thought you were staying… and I don’t think you’re even on the island).

I don’t blame you for growing and advancing yourself… I’m actually quite proud of you for that, but it doesn’t make sense to me why you couldn’t bring me along with you. By which I mean we could have developed this future together. Instead, you took every advantage of me (in an already diminished health state), broke my heart, shattered my spirit, and fragmented my mind with the constant onslaught of slanderous cyber-warfare. But what really was the Spanish necktie coup de gras, was that in your game of hot/cold I love you/I ghost you/I’m in danger — you have preyed upon the exact triggers that I couldn’t ignore or walk away from. It’s like you were speeding away in a car and I couldn’t get my hand to let go off the bumper so I just got drug along behind until I had been worn down to nothing left.

I know that I don’t have anything to offer you anymore (you were always way out of my league anyway), nor is there reason for you to show any interest. It is not your job to supervise my state, and I would be just a waste of your resources. I stand by my word and what I have said throughout our time together in that you do not owe me anything.

So, unfortunately, I am once again left with no recourse but to prostrate myself before you and beg, like the sick and wounded malfeasant that I am. I beg of your mercy, my lady, if ever I did stir an element of love within your heart, when you have the time and if you don’t mind, would you please just come talk to me. My thinking is that perhaps if you wouldn’t mind illuminating some of the riddles in which I have become so entangled. I fear I will never be able to find let alone fix myself in my current state. It feels like a slithering weight has me within its coils and I stand no chance against the effective lethality of this 424-con ya’ have trapped me with. (See what I did there?)

And, to prove the magnitude of how greatly you have corrupted my logic and ensnared my heart, I forgive you for all transgressions (even the one’s ongoing still), and I love you! You are amazing and getting to share in part of your life was more than I have ever deserved. I can’t help it if every fiber of my being gets on board when I dream… dreaming and hoping are all I have left it seems (and even they falter lately). But my baby, my light and my love, I thank you and I will hold your memory fondly in my thoughts and in my heart.

With all of my best love,

Always Yours

P.S. I apologize for my ineptitude regarding the navigation of social media (kinda your fault as I had to teach myself essentially how to piece together a puzzle on the surface of a flowing river). Regardless, I do not have a way to contact you. So I am going to just post this here in the hopes that you will find it. Upon which I shall further hope that when you do you will notify me in some fashion so that I can take it down and stop humiliating myself even further.

[ashbrea381writings]

Flying Blind: Chapter 1, Bats in Paris

Four-year-old Richard Grayson glared at the girl in front of him. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was just six weeks older than him, and right now, she was taller than him too. “You’re gonna lose.” He taunted in heavily accented French, “I got super high scores and you can’t beat them!” “Don’t even think about it! I’m gonna win!” Marinette’s fists were clenched and her face red. “Just you watch!” The Dupain-Chengs and the Graysons shared an amused look over the heads of the children. “How are you doing?” Tom asked, chuckling about the children’s antics. “We’re good, we’ll be starting another tour this summer, then probably settle down for a couple years before moving on.” The two children started shouting even louder, causing them to be dragged apart by their exasperated parents. This happened every competition, for years.

***

Five years later, Richard stopped showing up to competitions. Marinette was annoyed at first, grumbling about him being a chicken who didn’t want to face her. At another competition, a month later, she heard one of the judges talking about the Graysons, making a sad comment about the loss of so many talented people, the wasted potential, an entire family of fliers just gone. Marinette stiffened in shock, her eyes wide as she processed what they had just said. Bolting to the locker room, Marinette yanked her hair out of it’s bun and changed back into her street clothes, hiding in the bathroom stall and crying. When her parents find her some minutes later, they make sure she isn’t hurt and take her home. “He’s dead… Dick’s dead.” She told them tearfully in the car on the way home. “All of them are.” Marinette stopped going to competitions after that.

***

Ladybug could feel the tension in her shoulders as she confronted the man before her, Chat a step behind and to her left. “If your Justice League doesn’t want to help, you could at least stay out of our city.” Her arms were crossed as she glared at Batman. “Why do you think the League wouldn’t help?” Robin asked, his accent strong but his pronunciation carefully precise. “We only heard of the situation recently.” “Oh? I called the League two years ago when our mentor gave up his memories to prevent Hawkmoth from getting something important.” Ladybug spat, letting her disgust show without letting it be bad enough that Hawkmoth could sense it. “I got told to stop playing games and they hung up on me.” “Who did you speak with?” Batman asked, pulling out a small tablet to take notes. “I don’t know, they didn’t say. Male, light voice in the baritone range, sounded way too cheerful until he decided I was lying, then he was just an ass.” She shrugged and gestured to the city around her. “‘Paris is fine, we would have noticed if something bad happened.’” She quoted in a near-perfect impression of Hal Jordan that made Batman frown. “Did you mean to do an impression?” Robin asked, somewhere between surprised and trying not to laugh when the girl his age was able to deepen her voice that much. “It’s accurate, I was there to hear him.” Chat chuckled, crossing his arms and shifting to lean on just one leg. “The guy continued to rant about children making prank calls and how he didn’t even know how we had the number.” “The fact that we had it at all should have told him the truth.” Ladybug scoffed. “Look, I’ve been doing this for four years. If you really wanna help, you’ll need to make sure you don’t fall victim to Hawkmoth yourself.” “And how does one do that?” “Mostly by repressing your negative emotions.” Chat shrugged, looking out over the city. “To be honest, it’s getting harder for Parisians to keep up their hopes. Our ages don’t help either, there are plenty who keep demanding we give up our Miraculi to older, more experienced people, but not just anyone can wield them.” “The personalities of the people wielding them must mesh well with the Miraculous, or it corrupts you and either causes you to become someone you wouldn’t recognize, or makes you very sick.” “That explains why you can’t pass them on, but why were you two chosen?” Robin tilted his head, moving forward a bit more. “We were the best candidates at the time. Our former mentor read our auras to make sure who meshed with which Miraculous and gave us a test to make sure we were the type of people to help others even when it’s not in our best interests.” Ladybug sighed and turned to look as a loud ‘bang!’ sounded from the direction of the Eiffel Tower. “Always the tower, I still don’t get it.” Chat sighed, prepping to take off. “Don’t ask me, Kitty.” Ladybug grabbed her yo-yo. “Stay back out of the fight unless you see a civilian in danger. You don’t know what you’re up against.” Batman looked like he wanted to argue, but the teen heroes took off in the direction of the Akuma that was currently pulling pieces off of the Tower and throwing them at the ground nearby. Batman and Robin found a spot just outside the action to observe. Other members of the Miraculous Team were already on the scene, moving civilians and calling out information to each other. Viperion split off from the action to intercept Ladybug and seemed to have a lot of information. Once they conferred for a few moments, a suddenly weary-looking Viperion gave signals to several of the team members. The Akuma was released, captured, and purified. With the Cure cast, the Tower was repaired and the Miraculous Team collectively shared quiet celebrations before separating except for Chat Noir, who’s Cataclysm hadn’t been used. “LB and the others are going to recharge, check in with their families after the attack, and meet us. I’m to lead you to somewhere private where we can talk more thoroughly.” Chat was brisk, seeming tired. “Your Snake friend… He spent a good portion of the fight observing and only really called out instructions for the most part. Why is that?” Robin asked as they started running across rooftops. “That’s his part. Ladybug is Creation, I’m Destruction, he’s Intuition. He watches the fight and uses his ability to make sure we do not fail when we cannot avoid it otherwise.” Chat answered vaguely, enjoying the verbal cat-and-mouse. “Are you going to tell us what his power is?” Batman asked, his exasperation audible in his voice. “The more information we have, the better we can plan and the more help we can give.” “I’m gonna let Viperion explain, he’s a chill guy, he won’t mind telling you. Besides, they’re all gonna be there and I think LB plans to give you two a rundown of everyone anyway.” Chat explained, dropping down into a small garden hidden between buildings. There was a small storage shed that Chat opened, removing a handful of chairs and a folding table. “I believe LB plans on bringing refreshments, will you help me set this up?”

***

An hour later, the rest of the team had assembled, with more than just Ladybug bringing snacks and drinks. There was something for everyone, although Batman chose not to eat. “So, a rundown?” “My powers stem from Creation, I create an object that helps us in the fight, purify the Akuma, and my Cure repairs any damage done by the miraculous during that specific Akuma fight. If too much time passes after the Akuma was purified, I can’t put it right.” Ladybug began, pointing to Chat next. “His power is from Destruction, he can destroy any one item he touches or a portion of a surface such as the ground or a wall. He can control how far the destruction spreads to a degree, it’s something we’re working on. Viperion has the power of Second Chance, he sets a timer and within that span of time he can reset to the beginning as many times as he wants theoretically. The problem is that he’s the only one who remembers what happened in the timeline he reset, so he has to be able to remember what to do so we can succeed.” “Is that why you suddenly looked more tired during the fight?” Robin asked, brows furrowing. “Yes. Seeing your friends get hurt over and over will do that.” The shaggy-haired hero sighed, shaking his head. “As much as I dislike seeing it, I know that I can prevent it as long as I still have my power active and as long as I’m able to give them the right information when we reset. I’ve gotten a lot better than when we started, but it helped when Chat started to realize I knew what I was doing.” His eyes sparkled with a bit of humor and Chat shook his head with a goan. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Chat asked, stretching. “Nope, never.” “Anyway.” Ladybug glared at the two boys, but it lacked conviction. “You’ll have to give me the rundown later of how many times we reset. Moving on, Rena Rouge, power of Illusion. Carapace, Protection, his shields are nearly impenetrable.” Ladybug pointed out each hero in turn. “Honey Bee, she can paralyze a person with her stinger, most of these have a duration and are usable just once for now. Pegasus can make portals to anywhere, again, once and there’s a time limit after using it. King Monkey isn’t here right now, but his power disrupts those of whomever is touched with an object he summons. We have one more teammate who doesn’t get involved often. Their name is Bunnyx, and they don’t show up much unless we really need them. They travel through time.” “So you have a time-traveler to come pull you out? Then why don’t they tell you who Hawkmoth is?” Batman demanded. “Because one: that’s cheating, and two: that’s not how they’re supposed to figure it out.” Came another voice from above before a blue, white, and pink blur dropped down behind Ladybug.

***

Note: The competition is for Gymnastics if anyone’s confused.

[anne-with-an-evangelion]

When it comes to talking about DBH characters who get character growth/a redemption arc, Hank is the obvious person to bring up, and there’s the obvious fandom fixation on Gavin, but what about Adam Chapman? He has an arc in the game that sort of disappears in the fray when compared to other characters but he has the literal journey that everyone wants Gavin to have. But even in comparison to others I feel like Adam completely stands on his own as a good character with so much potential as far as his past, future and motivations.

When Kara, Luther and Alice first show up at Rose’s house, Adam is outside chopping wood and literally turns them away, saying his mom isn’t just too busy to talk to them - she doesn’t WANT to. Of course this isn’t the case and Rose invites everyone inside. And Adam is PISSED.

Also he’s wearing a shirt that says Average Casual Guy which is so funny

Adam is young, probably around twenty, he doesn’t seem to be away at college or anything, rather Rose says they just farm their own food to sell at the market and that’s how they scrape by. Sounds stressful, especially with a bunch of Androids living in their house. It’s obvious Adam doesn’t want them around and definitely doesn’t want any new deviants showing up, after the call for revolution that occurred with Markus’s Stratford Tower speech.

As the scene goes on, you get more information about the Chapman’s and the things they’ve been through. Rose is obviously an incredibly strong and compassionate person to be helping the Androids to this extent, but there’s no denying it’s putting her and Adam in danger. When Kara walks in on their right in the kitchen, Adam is telling Rose they need to stop getting involved, that it’s not safe, and he’s not going to back down about this issue anymore.

His outburst over this is pretty understandable, in the context of the game - even when Kara first shows up asking for Rose, Adam’s first question is, “What do you want with her?” Which I feel like isn’t just about whether Kara is an Android or not, but whether she’s someone there to bust them for having Androids in the house. And of course he’s right, because the cops come by like five minutes later to search the house. They are putting themselves in danger, and even though they’re doing the right thing, it must still be a strain on their family... and it’s clear they’ve fought about this many, many times.

So, yeah, his rejection of his mother’s desire to help the Androids comes from a place of fear for their safety, which is understandable to an extent. But he isn’t just afraid of deviants and doesn’t want to help them - he really seems to hate them, which shouldn’t be an understandable view to hold within the context of the game and the allegory of the Civil Rights Movement, and then the language he uses is like, yikes...

It’s not, I understand they’re in trouble but I’m upset you’re putting us in danger, it’s something else - and of course Adam is really mad, and maybe saying something he doesn’t necessarily mean, but this does seem to reflect his view of the Androids as a whole. At this time, Adam honestly doesn’t see them as being people, which probably makes it even harder for him to understand why Rose goes so far out of her way to help them.

I mean, she sets up trips across the river which have been obviously successful, she drives them to Jericho, she has some kind of contact with or understanding of the revolution leaders because she’s able to direct Kara on where to go, and though not much is explained, her brother (and Adam’s uncle) is obviously totally cool with Androids because he’s willing to help them too. She’s clearly been doing this for a while, or at least is proactive enough to take action and do whatever she has to. She’s even willing to take care of Alice once they get across the border. Literally the hero of DBH but I digress. Adam doesn’t think Androids are worthy of the rights they’re asking for, especially when compared to humans.

What follows this is one of the most intriguing lines in the scene (to me)

What does this mean?? We know his father passed away, and Rose says that ever since then, Adam just boils over sometimes. Maybe it happened suddenly, an accident possibly - or did he get sick? Were Androids involved somehow, like what happened with Cole? What was Rose’s husband’s opinion on Androids? Things have changed since he passed, for sure, but still. Did he hold that same “Androids aren’t alive” opinion that Adam is now expressing? Or is it just that Adam thinks if his dad were still here, he’d be able to solve this issue somehow? Maybe his dad was a politician who ran on pro-Android laws and after he died Adam has become disillusioned with his parents’ worldview ??? Maybe his father died helping Androids too and that’s why Adam rejects them so much. Or maybe his dad hated Androids so much he would have never allowed Rose to help them, and so they wouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place, in Adam’s mind. (Edited to say that apparently it’s canon that Adam’s father died of cancer though I can’t recall it specifically being said in the game, so that is definitely a sad addition to things☹️)

I’m literally just making shit up lol but I really do personally hesitate to give Adam some kind of super traumatic backstory or make him bigoted against Androids because the Black characters are already treated poorly enough in the game when it comes to those things. I’m inclined to think this is just a general outburst of missing his dad and wanting him to be there to ‘fix’ things or at least, maybe, mediate the conversation between Adam and Rose. Idk, it’s cool to speculate on, especially when other characters are given super deep dives into their literally nonexistent canon backstory, it definitely feels like there’s so much that’s unsaid here.

Obviously there’s a couple of different ways the gameplay can go after this - but one other thing I wanted to bring up was what happens if you end up with Kara at the border crossing and run into Rose and Adam there. After talking to Rose in the bathroom and making a plan to all go to her brother’s house, Kara talks to Adam outside-

He says he doesn’t agree with Markus’s methods (which is like.. ok.. a whole other conversation in itself)(EDIT: so apparently the answer is different if you choose the ‘pacifist’ route for Markus- Adam says that ‘seeing what Markus is doing made me realize you’re alive’ !!! Which is cool that it changes and def reflects something different about his character than if his response is always the same!) So anyway he now believes in Androids’ right to freedom and happiness. What made this come about?? Was it after interacting with Alice and Kara and Luther?? I have a theory that Rose knew Alice was an Android as soon as they showed up but just played along - maybe when Adam realized there were Android children mixed up in this too, he began to change his view on things, maybe see himself in them, or see things through his father’s eyes, wanting to protect his family and child. Maybe that’s the lens through which Adam begins to see it. It could be the peaceful pacifist revolution Markus is leading, if he is- but even if not, Adam still changes his mind.

Or, maybe after everything that’s happened, he just realizes he was being kind of an asshole about the whole thing and when it came down to it, a government that was literally going door to door searching for Androids and the people who might help them? That’s probably not the type of place Adam wants to live in. It’s definitely interesting to think about his motivations and what brought him to this point.

And even though it’s sad for Kara and Luther, I find the ending where Alice ends up with the Chapman’s really.. bittersweet-ly satisfying in a narrative way. Found family .... though of course it sounds like they were all planning on meeting at Rose’s brother’s house so they would have all been together anyway☹️

🥲I feel like I had so much more to say but yeah!! I think he’s such a cool interesting character and I love that he ends up on the side of the Androids in the end. And what happens after they escape safely??? Does he start helping deviants too like Rose does? Are they going to settle down and form a commune of sorts with the other Androids who escaped? I love the idea of that loss in Adam’s life being filled up with the addition of new people who care about him, and a little sister in Alice, since he seems to be an only child. The possibilities of it all...

Adam has a sad sort of story to his past, he dislikes Androids and then comes around, he has so much potential for what happens after the revolution - and he’s not the only one!!! There are so many characters in the game that deserve a closer look but I just love Adam..

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 12k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: good god where to begin, loss of virginity : ) for real, big dick joon, cowgirl, unprotected sex, special appearance from namjoon’s sensitive neck o.o, premature ejaculation sorry bud, creampie, dom!joon still tho, sub!reader, sexting, dom!hoseok/master!hoseok, sub!jungkook, sub!reader agAIN, bondage and shibari, master/slave dynamics (sorry i have to spoil the prompt but want to properly TW this stuff, but the word slave is only used once out-of-scene), filmed sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hoseok wearing the tear dior fit you are WELCOME, fingering, orgasm control/denial, oral (m receiving), anal (m receiving), a position i am told is called a lucky pierre/french sandwich, threesome in case you couldn’t guess, aftercare, guided masturbation, phone sex, pet-names, discipline/punishment

banner designer @jamaisjoons​ | thank you my darling SFHS babies ! i love you

DAY EIGHT

“Are you ready to make your decision?”

No. Of course the answer is no, but there’s no delaying it anymore. “Is it nine already?”

Sejin sighs, shuffling to the side of the table to indicate you’re to sit beside him. When you do, facing the boys on the couch, your heart gives another sickening lurch. Sejin squeezes your shoulder kindly. “Just a game, sweetheart,” he assures quietly, before raising his voice into the authorial tone he used for announcements. “Thank you for all being here on time, any on topic questions before we begin?”

Nobody answers, not even Jin. There’s a tense atmosphere, and you feel caught right in the centre of it.

“Okay, then,” he says softly, sensing the sullen atmosphere. “I’d like to give each of the Gentlemen a chance to explain why Y/n should keep them in the show. Let’s go around the room. Yoongi?”

To Sejin’s left, perched on the end of the three-person couch, is the doctor himself, legs crossed and face relaxed. “Um, Y/n should keep me in becau-”

“Say it to her,” Sejin guides, shuffling back to move out of the way.

Reflexively, Yoongi glances up at you, and the calm warmth of his eyes reassures you. “Y/n, I’d ask you to keep me in because we’ve had a good time together so far, but there’s so much that we have yet to explore. Beyond that, I’d like to think I’m a good fit for the house, and I’ll continue to assist Jin-hyung in cooking many meals.” Once he’s done, he sends you a small smile, eyes glinting playfully.

The younger boy sitting next to him is not as cheerful. Bottom lip red from gnawing, Jungkook tucks his feet up on the couch, resting his chin on his knees. His eyes meet yours after Sejin signals for him to begin. “I really hope you don’t vote me out because I like it here a lot. You’re so cool, and the hyungs are so cool, and I feel really happy here. I know we haven’t spent a whole lot of quality time yet, but I want to, if I stick around long enough.”

You bite down harshly on your tongue, sending him a strained smile. Fuck, this sucks. Beside Jungkook is Hoseok, who props his elbow on the arm of the couch, posture casual but face stricken.

“Y/n,” Hoseok begins, voice tentative and uncharacteristically subdued, “you’re a very intelligent girl and you have a lot of potential in being a sub. I’d appreciate the opportunity to stay in and show you and the audience how enjoyable BDSM can be. We’re all very lucky men to be on the show with you.”

On the couch beside, Namjoon is the next one around. He pauses, eyes dancing about the room as he thinks. “I think it probably doesn’t make much sense to keep me in the game,” he allows. “I’m not experienced like the others and so it’s a little hard to defend on that front, but I think me staying allows you the advantage of being my first and best experience. I feel like with just a bit more time, I’ll really grow into my element, and I feel safe doing it with you. So I really hope I stay.”

Squished beside him is Jin, who sends you a big grin, even if it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “This is so shitty,” he says with a laugh, “it’s harder than I was prepared for before I came, and I think that’s due partly to the warm environment that we’re developing with each other, but also because you, Y/n, are a very genuine and lively person. Of course this is a game about sex, but I don’t think any one of us could say that’s the only factor here. As for me, I ask that you keep me in at least a week more because I can promise not only a good time, but also an ear if you need one, and advice should you ever want it.” He pauses to glance around the room. “That goes for all of you,” Jin adds, “I cannot believe that I don’t hate any of you, I don’t know how the producers found such great people.”

His words ease a bit of the tension, and the rest of you let out laughs of relief, your heart easing slightly.

Next, it’s down on the floor for Taehyung, who seems to prefer sitting cross-legged on the carpet to any other spot in the room. “I really wanna stay here,” he pleads with his eyes locked on yours, so earnest, “you’re so fantastic, and Jungkookie and the hyungs are all so fantastic, and I don’t wanna go home so soon. And also I think in terms of sex and stuff, I bring a lot to the table.” Taehyung avoids Sejin’s gaze, fiddling with the hem of his shirt innocently even as he stares up through his eyelashes at the rest of you cheekily. “I think we saw that yesterday. Though in the future, hopefully it’ll cost me less.” He sends a withering glare at Yoongi and Jin. “You assholes.”

You let out a chuckle, Jin huffing in response and Yoongi just shrugging with a shameless grin. Finally, it’s Jimin’s turn, and your chest pangs as you remember the last time you were together. The way he squeezed your hand gently before getting out of the car last night, the way he walked you to your bedroom door, wishing you sweet dreams. The way you saw an entirely different man to the one he’s been advertising.

His eyes on you are imploring even as his back is straight and legs crossed. “I value the time I spend with you. This is, after all, a game about sex so I’ll defend myself by saying you can rest assured I’m skilled enough to please you well, but if you allow me to stay,” he drops eye contact, fiddling with his rings even as he fights to remain poised, “I do hope it’s not the sex alone that keeps me here.” Like a switch is flicked, his momentary vulnerability vanishes, and he glances up and sends you a smile, warm and at-ease, having said his piece.

“And Y/n,” Sejin guides from beside you, his kind eyes on you, “anything to say to the guys?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s been a week? Why is this so hard? “I- First of all, this decision has been insanely hard. You’re all amazing, not just in bed but as people, and I hope that whoever has to leave will still stay in touch. It feels really cruel that I have to say goodbye to someone so soon. The reality is, none of you did bad, and there’s nobody I don’t like; nobody that doesn’t belong here. I’ve made my decision, but- I don’t know. I’m not happy with it, but I don’t think I’d be happy with any decision. In the end, I guess I just went for the least painful option.” You take a deep breath, eyes lifting to look at Hoseok, who sends you a sad smile. You open your mouth-

“Wait!” Sejin interrupts loudly. Everyone turns to look at him in unison, eyes wide. “There-” He breaks off with a sigh, glancing at the camera closest to him before looking back down at the group. “Listen; this will be edited out, but ratings have been doing far better than we’d ever anticipated. We already hired a third editor to keep up with demand and get more episodes out than was on the schedule, and there’s talk we may even start getting sponsorships because the support has been creating headlines, at least on Twitter. The higher-ups at Bangasm, well… they want to make an exception.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” Sejin answers. “Act surprised.” The eight of you stare at him with varying degrees of bewilderment as he puffs his chest and carries his voice louder, switching back into producer mode. “Wait!” he repeats in the same tone as earlier. “The production team hasn’t been completely honest with you. This isn’t just a basic game with prompts each week like we told you. There will be a special advantage, a wildcard if you wish, that changes things up. They could affect the prompts, or how the game proceeds for that week. We call them Bangasm Bombs. And while we didn’t tell you, our production team has drawn the Bangasm Bomb for Week One.”

Sejin pauses to look at you all meaningfully. Jimin picks up the hint. “So; what’s the ‘Bangasm Bomb’ for this week?” he asks for you, gesturing quote marks with his fingers. 

Your mind is starting to whir, possibilities beginning to percolate in your mind, but you aren’t prepared for what Sejin says next.

“Nobody goes home this week.” 

Your mouth drops open, eyes darting around the room to see the open disbelief on the guys’ faces. “So I- I don’t have to send anyone home today?”

“No,” Sejin answers warmly, and you feel your shoulders sag in relief, a breath rushing out you didn’t know you were holding. Sejin winces, clearing his throat lightly. “That’s… the other thing.”

“Other thing?” Yoongi asks incredulously. “There’s more?”

“With the success of the show comes other benefits. For example; the CEO and treasurer of Bangasm have agreed to double our funding if we can keep the views up. No, Seokjin,” Sejin quips the second the eldest contestant raises his hand. Jin puts his hand down, lips pursed in a pout. “We’re changing the rules a bit. Before, we said if Y/n eliminated you, you’d pack your bags and leave. Now; you stay.”

Sejin can’t get another word out over the clamour that arises, everyone shocked and excited and confused all at once. He waves his hand for silence, and only after a minute or so everyone calms down. 

“So, there’s just no eliminating?” Jungkook asks with a comically quizzical look on his face.

“Please just let me explain,” Sejin requests, sighing. “Yes, there will still be eliminations. But if you get eliminated, you stay in the house.”

“So it’s a free pass,” Jungkook surmises.

“Not quite. No longer will you not be competing in the game, but you won’t be able to have sex with or sexually touch Y/n in any way. If you do, then you’ll be sent out of the house for good.”

“No sex with Y/n?” Taehyung asks meaningfully. “So… otherwise…?”

Sejin sighs, a tired laugh falling from his lips. “Just no sex with Y/n,” he confirms. “If you touch Y/n sexually, you go home. If Y/n touches you, of course we can’t send her home, so we’ve devised a punishment.” 

At the word punishment your head darts up to stare at the producer, but Hoseok beats you to the punch. “She’s gonna come join us in the bunkroom?”

“That’s for failing prompts, Hobi-hyung,” Namjoon points out, “Y/n doesn’t have any prompts.”

“Correct,” Sejin confirms. “If Y/n touches an eliminated member in a sexual manner, then that member gets to choose what she wears for the next 24 hours.”

You frown. “That doesn’t sound so…” you trail off when you glance up, only to be met with seven hungry sets of eyes. You can just about see the cogs turning in their brains as they stare at your body. “Ah.”

“Yes. So stick to the rules, and you get, as Jungkook so elegantly put, a free pass minus Y/n. Got it?”

The eight of you stay silent, still shell-shocked from the two revelations. This changed things. Now, when you voted someone off, they would get to stay, but they would get to stay. You can see both the positive and negative possibilities there, and it’s no surprise that a reality show would have such a sneaky plot twist.

So you’d have all seven fucking you for one more week, and then all seven every week in the future, only with your sexual prospects dropping as you went. It does ensure that you’ll begin voting for them purely based on sexual performance; considering their personalities in the house wasn’t an issue if you’d have those anyway. 

As you glance around the room, you can’t help but wonder if your vote would’ve been different had you known that he’d get to stay. And you wonder if you’ll end up picking the same person in a week’s time, after a new set of prompts. The thought makes you sit up, turning to Sejin again.

“Will the boys draw their new prompts, then?” you ask. “Do I get to know the theme again?”

“Ah, of course-” Sejin breaks off to sit up, retrieving a stack of slightly crumpled papers from his back pocket. “This week’s theme is dynamics and roleplay. Come pick a card.”

Like last week, you pay close attention to the reactions of each of the seven. Namjoon blinks wide at his, but doesn’t seem as put off as last week, and his eyes go distant when he sits back down, like he’s already picturing it. Jimin takes two, one for him at one for Taehyung, and the two compare, Taehyung laughing at Jimin’s and Jimin smirking at Taehyung’s, brushing his clean-shaven cheek with the back of his knuckles and murmuring something in his ear. 

When Jin gets his, he bites his tongue and shakes his head with a light laugh, and Yoongi’s mouth drops open upon reading his card, eyes darkening with lust. Jungkook winces at first, but thinks on it a moment longer and grins eagerly, taking a second glance and scrunching his nose cutely at it. Hoseok takes his last, calmly reading it with a pleased smirk, sliding it into his front pocket and taking a seat.

Your breath leaves you in a slow stream. You’re back to the not-knowing. Dynamics and roleplay. It could really be anything, you supposed. Naughty schoolgirl, pizza delivery guy. You didn’t watch a lot of porn but you vaguely knew some of the tropes, and it’ll be a rather interesting week indeed.

“That’s not all, of course,” Sejin adds, and you feel like your brain could implode with the information dump that this morning has been. “Would you like to hear the Bangasm Bomb for Week 2?”

“We find out now?” Hoseok questions. “Not at the end?”

“Well, in order to fulfil it you need to know now,” the producer explains. “This week, Y/n may not sleep in her own bed, and she may not sleep in the same bed twice.”

You blink, not expecting it to be directed at you. “I what?” Your mind catches up with the rule, and you let out a light laugh. “So, I’ll have to share with the other guys?”

"Let's not forget the type of show we're on," Yoongi points out, leveling an impressed stare at the producer. "Well-played."

"Thank you," Sejin replies shortly. "Now, that'll be all. Just a reminder, if your scene isn't filmed, it doesn't count, and it's okay if Y/n guesses the prompt, but if you tell her directly then your prompt is void. Seokjin; we ordered you a set of chef's knives that should be here later today. Please stop spamming the company's inquiries email."

He's out of the room before Jin can even react, open-mouthed but smug like the cat that got the cream.

The eight of you sit in silence for a moment or two, still reeling. It's Hoseok in the end that recovers first.

"So we all stay," he muses. "Even if we get voted off, we stay. Why is that both a blessing and a curse?"

"This is reality TV," Jimin points out calmly, "and it's porn on top of it. Tension and drama skyrockets ratings. Well; I'm going to make some coffees if anyone wants one."

Most of the group move back into the kitchen, rifling through cabinets like zombies to make their breakfasts, but Namjoon approaches you hesitantly, biting on his lip.

"Y/n, can I talk to you? Privately?"

You stand up off the coffee table, though still you're lifting your chin to meet his gaze. "Sure," you reply easily, "privately or privately privately?"

"Um," he hesitates, glancing towards the entrance foyer, where across the hall lies the unfilmed rec room. "Just privately is fine for now."

Everyone else distracted with the prospect of food and hot coffee, it's easy enough to just sit on the stairs, side-by-side and thighs touching. Like this, you become aware of how much bigger he is than you. Namjoon's legs sprawl out down to the bottom of the stairs, socked feet slipping slightly on the glossy stone floor, whereas yours are tucked on the step below you. He glances down at you with a nervous disposition, but his eyes are surprisingly steady.

"Hoseok-hyung and I slept in the bunk bed room last night, as you probably know," he explains. "Him and I talked a lot. About a bunch of things, but he helped me realise something. And after I got the prompt today, I was sure."

Your eyes widen as they watch him carefully. The roots of his purple are starting to grow out in a soft brunette that makes him look even younger, his face round yet gently sculpted, chin pressed out in solemnity. "Sure of what?" you question quietly.

Namjoon takes a slow breath, rubbing his palms over his knees. "I think it's better if I don't lose my virginity while doing some cheesy role-play for a porn show, you know? I know I chose to come here knowing what I was walking into, but... Hoseok suggested maybe we could use the rec room for some privacy and then I could just fill my prompt later in the week. Of course, the producers will probably get annoyed at me not losing my virginity on camera, but they never said I had to, and I think I want it to be something just for me, you know? Something that's just you and me, outside of the show. I understand if you don't want to do that, but if you're happy to, I think I'm ready now."

You take a few moments to fully process his words, the gravity of them. "You sure you're ready? If you are, I'm happy to do that, Joonie. I want it to be good for you. You deserve that."

He smiles at that, broadly, but with his head ducked down. "That means a lot," he admits, "but yeah. I'm ready. If you want to...?" He trails off, tipping his head in the direction of the private rec room.

You sit up straight. "Oh! You mean- now now? Yes, I can do that, wow, okay-"

"If that's alright?" he asks hastily, face pinched with worry, but you just stand up, holding out a hand to him. He takes it, letting you lead him to the door.

From the few times you've needed to use this room, it's been pretty empty. It's small; most likely originally intended as extra storage or a home office, and the producers had put a visibly second-hand couch on one wall, a skinny coffee table and a lamp in there.

Generally, it's a glorified staffroom of sorts, a time-out that's more valuable for its lack of cameras than anything actually inside. Today, though, you freeze in the hallway at the sight that greets you.

With the table pushed to one side, boasting two bottles of water, a box of tissues, a bottle of self-heating lube and a small bluetooth speaker, the rest of the room has been converted into a massive bed.

The floor is covered with blankets, sheets and duvets, thick enough to be like a bedroll, with pillows stacked on the edges. They cover most of the floor, roughly the size of a queen size bed. On top of the impressive set-up are a colourful variety of packaged condoms, arranged in a tasteful love-heart.

Namjoon groans at the display, pinching his brow. "Hoseok said he'd set up for me and make it a little more comfortable, I'm sorry."

"It's cute," you say with a laugh, "are you wanting to use condoms?"

Namjoon swallows. "Uh, you- what would you prefer?"

You shrug, collecting them up and flicking through the buffet of options. You chuckle as the majority are L and XL. Unsurprising. "I mean, we don't need one. So if you want to feel everything fully, I say go bare."

"G-go bare, please," he coughs out awkwardly, shutting and locking the door behind him, double-checking the handle. "Can we put some music on? It's really quiet in here."

"Of course." You busy yourself with the music, smiling at the fact that he must have appreciated it last time. By the time you select a nice playlist on your phone and pick a decent volume, Namjoon's surprised you by hastily stripping down to his underwear, shyly rubbing at his knees.

You stand stock-still for a moment, just taking in the gorgeous sight of his body, all understated muscle and bold lines and planes. He must do some form of exercise, because his chest is thick, as are his thighs, and his lower stomach is soft but lean. He's gorgeous, and between your legs you feel your excitement grow.

Hustling to strip your clothes off as a gentle guitar strumming fills the air, you feel the cool cotton of the duvet under your knees as you straddle Namjoon, the man sucking in a breath as your clothed pussy presses flush against his hardness.

"Give me a kiss," you ask softly, a suggestion to let him take control, and a sigh of relief leaves his lungs as he cups your face in his hands, tugging your lips onto his greedily.

The ferocity with which he kisses you takes your breath away. It's powerful, greedy and demanding like he's waited an eon to kiss you again. While he was surprisingly skilful the first time, now it feels like he's come into his own.

You make a noise of surprise in the back of your throat as you feel his tongue slipping between your lips, licking up into your mouth like he's trying to devour you. You're drunk on it, mind feeling hazy, but you manage to pull away for a moment, gasping out a, "how the hell did you get this good?"

Grunting, Namjoon's eyes flutter open and one of his hands slips back to cup the nape of your neck securely, preventing you from backing up further. "Hoseok gave me some tips," he admits. "Now get back here."

You let yourself be pulled in again and eaten alive, muffled groans and sighs of bliss slipping out between swipes of tongue and flashes of teeth, nipping at your bottom lip until it's swollen and aching in the best way.

Without realising, you've begin to grind your hips against him, needing friction, and he pants into your mouth at the feeling. The pleasure makes him sloppy, and you groan as his lips leave yours, veering down to kiss along your jawline, tugging on your earlobe before sucking blossoms of colour down your throat. You tip your head back, arching into his mouth and rocking your hips against him, the friction addictive.

"Gonna fuck you now," you hear him groan against your collarbone, lips on your skin that's slick from his spit. Even in your heightened state of arousal you can sense the slight question in his voice, like he's checking you're still okay with it.

More than okay, you glance down to see the point that joins you, your panties so wet that the grey of his boxers is marred by a dark spot, wet and clinging to the stiff outline of his cock. You curse lowly at the sight of it. "Fuck, please, I need you, Joonie."

He lets out a strangled sigh, hands trembling slightly as he pushes down the waistband of his boxers so that it rests below his balls, cock bobbing up to rest at his stomach. He swallows hard, eyes closed and back resting against the base of the couch. The sheets beneath you have heated up with your body temperature, arousal radiating off the two of you in waves. 

When you first reach out to touch him, you keep your eyes on his face, on his reaction. The initial contact makes his brow twitch, eyes clenching shut. So thick your fingers don’t touch around him when you grasp his base, he’s definitely the biggest you’ve seen in the house; a touch of irony that the least experienced member had the biggest genetic advantage. His bottom lip finds his way tucked between his teeth, thighs tensing beneath you. 

“Joonie,” you mumble in a mock pout, “are you gonna fuck me now or so I have to do all the work myself?”

His eyes fly open, gaze landing on your widened eyes of innocence, before darting down to where you’re gently stroking him, fingertips catching on the sensitive ridge beneath his head. “Hobi-hyung said you should ride me so you can get used to it.”

You chuckle, tapping your thumb over his weeping slit, making him hiss. “Let’s stop thinking about what Hobi said and start worrying about what you want. Do you want me to ride you? Feel how tight I am for you?”

He curses, brows knitting as he nods shakily, and you can’t hold yourself back any longer. With a low curl of thrill in your stomach, you sit up so you can quickly slip off your panties, before straddling him again. He feels heavy when you brush his length through your sodden folds, readying him for you, and the thought makes you groan lowly. 

“Wanted you so bad,” you confess over the music in the background, now a simple drum beat that gives you rhythm as you grind your hips over him, letting his blunt head catch at your entrance. “Fuck.” His fingers are digging into your hips just with the feeling of your pussy clenching over his tip, and you lower yourself painfully slowly, adjusting to the way he stretches you to your limit, dragging inch by inch against your walls. 

“H-oh god, it is, it’s so tight,” he comments with a hitch in his voice, and again you feel the muscles of his thighs twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to bury himself in you. Though the thought of it is hot, you’re merciful that he’s giving you time to grow accustomed to the sheer girth of his dick inside you. 

“Does it feel good, Joonie?” you ask, the question panted as he takes your breath away, grinning at the quick stuttered nods he gives in reply, fingers flexing on the flesh of your hips and ass. By the time you’re sitting flush against his lap, you can barely breathe, a shaky hand pressing onto your stomach almost expecting to feel him bulging out of you from the inside. He’s not just the biggest on the show, but the biggest you’ve ever had, and you feel like you could cum just from rolling your hips against him. 

“You feel so amazing, Y/n,” he praises, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close so that he can press his lips to yours. You whine as he shifts in you, feeling shakier than ever, but appreciate the chance to adjust to him, tongue chasing his and fingers slipping into his hair as you kiss. 

You’re content to stay like that for as long as he continues to move his mouth against you, mouth watering at the feeling of cockwarming him and joining your bodies so intimately, but the excitement of new sensation gets to him, and after a while he begins to shift, holding your hips down and grinding his hips.

Your jaw drops open, hands flying out to grip at his shoulders at the feeling. He’s so deep you can barely comprehend it, can barely think with his cock filling you so completely, and find yourself pleading quietly, an unintelligible babble of more, please more, need more. He shifts his posture as you sit on his length, uncrossing his legs and instead bracing them in front of him. 

“Want me to fuck you like this?” he asks, nipping at your throat, and you shiver at the husky gravel of his tone. What happened to the shy virgin? 

“Please, Joonie,” you gasp, clenching around him, “need you to move.”

His first thrust takes your breath away, punching the air out of your lungs. When he moves inside you it feels monumental, like a core piece of you shifting, and your eyes water with the delicious burn. You whine when he pauses for a moment, hands slipping down to knead at your ass. Namjoon’s eyes are like molten dark chocolate as they focus on you, rich and intense, and when your head tips down to kiss him again it’s so needy your teeth clash, the keening whimper in your throat sign enough that you want more. 

It’s only once he begins to fuck you in earnest, bouncing you on his cock, that you see how truly affected he is. Strands of lilac cling to his temples as he sweats, chest heaving and hands trembling even as his fingers dig in hungrily. His lips are slick with spit, but he makes no move to wipe them clean, just biting onto his bottom lip and sucking, hips snapping up with bruising momentum. 

You can’t catch your breath, but still you chase his lips like oxygen, needing to be as close as possible. His panting keeps you anchored as you moan shamelessly, toes curling and back arching. Your high approaches quickly enough that it shocks you, but there’s no escaping the pleasure that rushes through you with every snap of his hips. 

You lose contact with his mouth, cheek resting limply on his shoulder as he speeds up his pace, the muscles in your legs failing you, twitching uncontrollably. 

“No, no, no, fuck,” Namjoon chants lowly, and you feel a hand bury in your hair, holding you to the crook of his neck, “I’m sorry, I’m not gonna last.”

You moan at that, feeling him stiffen impossibly more inside you with every thrust. “Wan’ you to cum,” you promise in his ear, barely more than a gasped breath, “wanna cum with you.” To end the statement, you nuzzle your nose against his throat and nip at his pulse point. To your surprise, he shudders violently, suddenly going stock still.

Your eyes widen as hot ropes of cum fill you, Namjoon clutching you to him helplessly, groaning nonsense as his orgasm hits him out of nowhere. Your own high recedes, but you barely notice it as you sit up tiredly and clench around him, watching the pleasure flicker across his face as he rides the high. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes cast towards the ceiling and chest still heaving, “I’m so sorry, I… sensitive neck.”

You grin, running your hands up to gently brush over it, feeling him pulse inside you, spurting the final drops of cum from his spent cock. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, leaning in quickly to nibble at his lips and give him a lazy, indulgent kiss. “That was really fucking hot.”

He laughs, cheeks pinkening slightly, and you feel your heart warm at the return of the shy Namjoon you’d gotten used to. So he’s a lot more dominant and confident in the heat of the moment, you muse as he catches his breath, good to know.

When you find your strength again, slowly sitting up off him, you wince at the rush of cum leaving you, and the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness. That’s only exacerbated by the fact that you haven’t cum yet, but it’s his first time and you don’t want him to feel bad. Collapsing on the sheets beside him, you rest your head on his shoulder, breath still coming in shallow pants. “Good?”

“Good god, Y/n,” he exclaims earnestly, “I think I might be a sex addict now.” 

A surprised peal of laughter leaves your lungs, and you shove him playfully before crawling over to the coffee table, cracking open a bottle of water and cleaning yourself up with the available tissues. “Hoseok really did think this through, huh?” you muse, chucking him the box once you’re done.

Namjoon clears up the cum on his cock and thighs, grimacing at the way some of it has stained his boxers, but he sends you a guilty look. “I’m sorry.”

You frown, reaching for your clothes. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t-”

Whatever Namjoon is about to say is cut off by a sudden thud that gives you both a fright, followed by three polite albeit enthusiastic knocks. You stare in bewilderment at the door, before hastily dressing yourself.

“Is everything alright?” Namjoon calls out, putting his underwear back on properly and hopping into his pants. “Has something happened?”

“I should hope so, young grasshopper!” an enthusiastic voice chirps from the other side of the door, muffled but unmistakably Hoseok. “You’ve popped your cherry, Kim Namjoon!”

The academic winces, reaching out to unlock the door once he’s made sure the two of you are dressed. “Hoseok, what are you doing? Wha-?” He breaks off once he opens the door, and you rush around behind him to see what gave him pause. 

In the foyer are Hoseok, Taehyung and Jin, all in matching paper birthday hats, the strings of thin elastic digging into their chins. Hoseok’s holding two more in his hands, and he thrusts them towards you as Taehyung wiggles the weighty bottle of champagne in his grasp. Behind them, Jin calmly holds a kitchen knife.

“What’s going on?” you ask in bewilderment, stepping out into the foyer and wincing at the ache between your legs with each step. “Why the fuck are you holding a knife?”

Jin, his bright blue party hat on at a jaunty angle, stares down at his hands blankly before gasping, tucking it behind his back. “Sometimes I forget I’m still holding it.”

“That’s extremely alarming,” Namjoon says with a frown. “I still don’t understand why you’re all gathered outside the door.”

“It’s time for the party, hyung,” Taehyung explains, “to celebrate you finally getting your dick wet.”

Your cheeks go flaming red as you glance at Namjoon, the poor man spluttering and eyes wide like he didn’t know what to do. “If there’s champagne, I’m there,” you announce calmly. “Come on, Joonie, let’s go celebrate.”

Namjoon visibly relaxes when you aren’t offended, flicking you a warm smile. “Is everyone wearing a hat?” he questions incredulously, taking the thin cone card. 

“Mo-mostly everyone,” Hoseok answers suspiciously. 

“It’s just you guys, isn’t it?”

“Well, if you both wore one, we’d have the majority.”

You grin, patting Hoseok on the shoulder as you walk past him into the foyer. “Let’s just go,” you call out to the guys behind you, “there better be food.”

As expected, the three that greeted you were the only ones wearing party hats. At the dining table, which has been laden with aromatic dishes, steaming rice and empty champagne flutes, the other three await. Jimin’s is resting beside his plate and chopsticks, untouched. Beside him, Yoongi has his upside down, using it as a bowl for the rice snacks he’s munching happily on. The youngest man in the house hasn’t even noticed you’ve arrived, using it like a very inefficient telescope, one eye scrunched shut and the other focused on the pinhole at the top of the cone. Sitting at the head of the table, he aims it at Jimin, mouth hanging open as he tries to see through the tiny gap.

Giving up, he waves the wide end around the room, desperate to catch a glimpse of something. Once the cone lands on the five of you, he gasps, chucking down the party hat. “You’re back! I didn’t start eating the cake, like you said!” 

Jin frowns. “That sounds awfully suspicious.” Knife still in hand, he makes his way to the kitchen island, where you catch a glimpse of a beautifully iced cake with writing on the top that you’re too far away to read. 

Jungkook shifts restlessly in his seat, staring worriedly at Jin. “The- um, the birds attacked it.” If you look closely, you think you can see the slightest hint of vanilla icing in the crook of his mouth. 

Jin stares at the cake desolately. “The birds?” he deadpans.

“Seagulls, you know,” Jungkook tries to pass off casually, the pink of his tongue dashing out to lick the sugar off his lips. “Absolute vultures.”

Hoseok tsks in disappointment. “Was it seagulls or was it vultures?”

Jungkook stays silent an inexplicably long amount of time, glancing slowly between Hoseok and Jin. His eyes are wide like he’s trying to work out the lie in his head “...It was me.” 

Jin’s fingers are pressed to his temple as he sighs. “Right.” Setting down the knife, he picks up the cake and brings it to the table, placing it in the middle of the table. The rest of you all take a seat, filling in the spaces around the table. Taehyung slips in beside Jimin, Hoseok at the end of the table opposite Jungkook, and finally Jin, Namjoon, and you take the last of the seats. 

The cake is beautiful, neat and fluffy buttercream all over with swooping cursive written in a thin black stream. Unfortunately, a very delicate but obvious slice has been taken out so you have to focus to work out what the writing says. Once you do, you let out a reluctant chuckle, watching Namjoon blush once more, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his shirt shyly.

“‘Here lies Namjoon’s virginity,’” you recite, “‘1994-2020.’ Who came up with that?”

“That’s not impor-” Jin begins, but Taehyung swiftly cuts him off.

“I did!” he declares proudly. “Everyone agreed mine was funnier than Jin-hyung’s.”

“Obviously not everyone,” Jin replies bitterly, dishing himself up some of the rice closest to him. “Dig in, everyone, Yoongi and I worked hard on this. And congratulations Namjoon,” he adds, though he sends Namjoon a genuine smile, eyes twinkling. 

After everyone says their congratulations, the food is dug into and the cork of the bottle is popped, conversation flowing like the champagne. 

Over time, Namjoon seems to get used to the chatter about sex, perhaps not feeling so left out of the loop, and his face is more open and relaxed than ever, a dimple poking out when he smiles. You occasionally reach out to shove him playfully or squeeze his arm as the chatter continues, and he no longer freezes or stiffens up. It warms your heart that he feels a little more comfortable amongst you.

You’re happy to tuck into your meal, having worked up an appetite for lunch, but it’s barely more than a second after finishing your first helping that your phone buzzes. 

You slip it out casually, frowning when you see it’s a notification that you’ve been added to a group-chat. 

After that, you smother a scoff and slip your phone back into your pocket, hoping if your cheeks are red they can safely be attributed to the alcohol.

Glancing up, you see Jungkook stand up suddenly, eyes wide with barely-contained excitement as he picks up his bowl, chopsticks and champagne flute, scurrying over to dump them in the sink before disappearing upstairs. Yoongi stares at his empty seat in confusion, but shrugs and takes another mouthful of cake. You eat yours quickly enough that your stomach flips, or perhaps that’s just the anticipation.

After you’re done it takes you a few moments to build up the courage to look across to Hoseok, feeling his gaze hot on your skin. When you do, your eyes lock immediately, but he just continues to stare, lips pressed in a narrow line. 

Your heart leaps for a moment, wondering what that hard gaze means for you later on. Silently, as Taehyung continues to explain something to him with a mouth half-full of food, Hoseok lifts his eyebrow once, gaze darting to the roof. The message is clear. Go upstairs.

Biting your lip, you let Namjoon know you’re heading up, waving off his concern until he’s pulled back into a thread of conversation. You try to ignore the uncertain adrenaline rush that makes your hands tremble and your core throb all the way upstairs, until you’re knocking on Jungkook’s door.

The two of you share a look once he opens the door, one of anticipation and desire, and you let out a breathy chuckle. 

“What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?” you ask rhetorically, stepping in and collapsing onto the bed. 

“I’ll take it if it means getting a good fuck,” he states matter-of-factly, sitting himself beside you and tucking his legs up. “Besides; I’ve wanted to see Hobi-hyung in action for a while.” 

Sitting up, you think back to that day in the confessional booth, where he had so easily made you fall apart without even taking a single item of clothing off. You wondered if he’d deprive you of his body tonight as well. 

“I think he’s angry at me,” you admit, “before I left, he looked… intense.” 

“Why would he be angry at you?” Jungkook asks with a frown, his hand slipping under the baggy fabric of his black tee, rubbing at his shoulder like he’s aching to take the item off. 

You go to shrug, but then your mind flicks back to this morning. “The elimination,” you realise, dread rising in your stomach just as much as your arousal is. “I think he knows I was going to eliminate him.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen, round enough to be saucers. “Wait, really? Why him?”

You find the words dry up in your throat. “I- God, I don’t know. How am I meant to choose anyone when you’re all amazing? Maybe his had the least impact on me, I suppose.” You eye the door to the walkway warily. “I guess he’s determined to change that now.” 

Instead of replying, you’re taken aback when Jungkook throws his arms around you in a tight hug, his long hair brushing at your neck and shoulder as he tucks his chin into the hollow of your collarbone. Hesitantly, you bring your own arms up to hug him back, feeling your tension melt in the warm embrace.

“It must be so hard,” he murmurs, “I don’t think Hobi-hyung is really mad, you know? He probably just feels like he wasn’t good enough for you and wants to prove himself.” 

This thought just sends another spike of guilt through you, but you have no time to dwell on it before the door is clicking open, making you and Jungkook instinctively jump apart. 

Hoseok stands there, as intimidating as last time in all-black. Though he’s wearing just socks instead of the heavy duty boots he was in that day, there’s no denying the power he holds in the clothes he wears like armour. Leather pants so snug they’re like a second skin and a black long-sleeved shirt, tight but breathable cotton with a harness of thin leather straps providing some structure. His raven hair is swept back, but just a single stray lock hangs low over his brow, drawing your eyes back to his. “Starting without me?” he questions lightly, though his face is devoid of humour.

You swallow hard. “No… Master,” you add, seeing the expectant look on his face. Once he steps further into the room, you notice the black bag that was previously hidden behind his back. The duffel bag from last time. You suck in a breath and clench your thighs before you can even think to stop yourself, and Hoseok’s positively gleam at the sound. 

“Both of you have been very naughty today,” he explains, dumping the bag on the bed beside Jungkook, beginning to casually pull a heap of bright red nylon rope out. “Little Jungkookie ate the cake that Jin-hyung worked so hard on, even when he was specifically asked not to. And Y/n… Y/n knows exactly what she did.” Your eyes widen when Hoseok sets the multiple lengths of rope to one side in a neat folded coil and reaches back into the bag to produce a pair of wide, heavy-duty shears.

“Woah, hyung,” Jungkook exclaims in alarm, “I can apologise for the cake, I-”

“Settle, Jungkook, it’s okay,” Hoseok explains softly. “I told you we’re gonna be tying you up, yeah? This is so that we can cut the ropes quickly in case you want out. They aren’t part of the scene.”

You feel a thrill run through your veins at the gentle click of metal resting on the nightstand once Hoseok sets the scissors down. He hadn’t needed them for when your arms were tied. It meant that whatever you were going to do tonight would be more intense. The thought of everyone else downstairs having a good time and hanging out while you and Jungkook were up here getting bound by Hoseok… it somehow feels even more illicit and dirty. 

“Let’s do Jungkookie first, hm?” the dom proposes. “I’ve been wanting to see what you’d look like all prettied up for me. Choose red just for you.” 

Jungkook positively preens at the compliment, hands tucking into his lap and chest puffing out. “I’m excited, Master!”

Hoseok gestures for Jungkook to remove his clothes with a flat expression. “Don’t be,” he retorts calmly, “this isn’t a reward, it’s discipline. We’re going to learn a lesson about behaving.”

The camboy trembles, hastily shucking off his baggy shirt and pushing his sweatpants down, naked except for a pair of white socks. Your breath is taken away by how easily he bares himself to the cameras and to the two of you, eyes eager and nervous as Hoseok picks up one of the longer lengths of rope.

“I want you to kneel, Jungkookie,” Hoseok instructs, “kneel on the bed for me, arms at your sides.” 

Jungkook obeys, breath hitching as Hoseok approaches, passing the coil over his palm. You watch with baited breath as a bright red strand of rope is run around his narrow waist. As the professional dom begins looping, knotting and wrapping the rope around Jungkook’s torso, the boy’s eyes grow lidded, cock twitching as it rests back against his lower abdomen. 

It takes a while, but time is as smooth as velvet in the soft silence of the room, just gentle breaths and the whir of nylon rope sliding so beautifully along Jungkook’s skin. 

By the time Hoseok is done, Jungkook’s eyes barely open, so content with the feeling of being patiently wrapped up, and he hums lightly as Hoseok rechecks the tightness of each loop, slipping two fingers between rope and skin in several places. 

Rather than bondage or restraint, this looks like art. An elaborate harness of red contrasts beautifully against the pale golden flesh below, hardness of his chest and abs softened by the vaguely fishnet pattern, loops that interlock and curve across his body gracefully, the most careful and precise lattice of scarlet ropes.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Hoseok questions, and a finger comes down to run through the glossy precum that has been smeared onto Jungkook’s lower stomach. The boy hisses, arching his hips up in search of contact, but all it takes is a sharp swat at the head of his cock and Jungkook is whining, thighs flexing with the force of keeping still. “Patience, my little prince,” Hoseok tuts, patting Jungkook’s cheek with a hand still wet with the camboy’s own precum, “we’re gonna teach you how to be patient today.”

Jungkook groans low in his throat, lips parting at the term of endearment, and Hoseok grins at it, tiger-like. 

“Oh, do you like that, hm? Wanna be my special prince today?” Hoseok runs his fingers through Jungkook’s long hair, the camboy sucking in a sharp breath when they snag on some knots. Jungkook nods, eyes round and glittering as he looks up at his Master. Hoseok pouts, tapping him once on the end of his button nose. “It’s a shame you weren’t behaving today, then wasn’t it? Maybe if you’re good for me tonight, you can earn it.”

Jungkook’s brows lift pleadingly, looking so small under Hoseok’s harsh stare. “I’ll be good, though, Master.”

“Mm, I’m sure you will,” Hoseok confirms, swiping a thumb over Jungkook’s nipple to make him shiver, before he fixes an iron gaze onto you.

You swallow, slipping out of your clothes as quickly as you can once he gives the same gesture as before, crossing your legs and arms to try and preserve some dignity. Hoseok just tuts, picking up two of the remaining sections of nylon rope, only one still left waiting on the bed. 

“Hands at your sides, kneeling,” he instructs sharply, and you feel the way your walls clench at the authority in his voice as you hustle to get into position. 

The harness he puts you in is different to Jungkook’s, accentuating your breasts with bands both above and below them, leaving your stomach free but doubling the rope over so that every loop that wraps around you is twice as thick. The final tie is slipped up between your breasts, around the back of your neck and tucking back down to hold it all together, and your breath shallows at the secure feeling of the rope. 

It’s peaceful; the warm stripes of friction as he pulls strands through loops, the gentle flicking of the ends against your skin until he folds them away, the way it embraces your chest so snugly, but not too tight. It’s only once he’s done checking the rope like he did with Jungkook that he picks up the second, shorter length of nylon, and by then you already feel the sleepy yet electric haze of subspace seeping throughout your body.

“Hands,” he instructs, and you hold them out for him, watching with heightened arousal as he binds them, the rope wrapping around and between your wrists until they’re locked together. Last time your hands were bound behind your back but like this, you can watch him as he works.

It’s quick - a testament to his expertise - but you spend every moment with your eyes locked onto him. The eyes, gleaming with control and satisfaction, the pink tip of his tongue poking out just slightly as he focuses. His thin fingers, looping and wrapping and knotting with such skill. 

His last move, eyes darting up and smirking once he catches you watching him, is to connect the thick cuff-like ropes to the top of your harness, pinning them up to your chest, folded hands resting at the base of your throat. You instinctively tug once he’s done, only to feel the rope around your back tighten and dig in, but no distance made. The feeling of being at his mercy only adds to the slick gathering between your thighs. 

Once he steps back, eying the two of you up, your breath catches in your throat. Both you and Jungkook are fully naked, somehow feeling even more vulnerable in the rope, and Hoseok stands across from the bed in all his black leather glory, eyes raking over you like he’s assessing his work. 

“Are you gonna touch us, Master?” Jungkook questions in a small voice, fingers clutching at his own thighs, cock flushed and needy between them. 

“Not you yet, Jungkookie. Gotta warm Y/n up first.” Your eyes widen - for what? - but Hoseok is moving closer run a hand down Jungkook’s back, fingers jumping over the strands of rope. “Do you wanna help me, baby?”

Jungkook nods, blushing when Hoseok pinches lightly at his cheek. 

Hoseok leans over to you, carding his fingers into your hair and curling them in so that he can hold you steady. Like this, kneeling on the bed, you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze, but he just tuts, holding you face-forward to Jungkook. “You wanna give her a kiss, Kookie?”

You swallow, fingers interlocking together as you look over to the camboy. He looks so needy, blissed out and pretty in his red rope, cock untouched and weeping. Your lips part automatically, tongue darting out to wet your lips and you don’t miss the way Jungkook’s eyes are drawn to it, lids now as he nods. 

With your hands pinned to your chest and kneeling, you don’t feel able to meet him halfway so you just wait as Jungkook crawls to you, glancing up at Hoseok for permission before burying your hands in your hair alongside the dom’s. With barely a second to suck in a breath, Jungkook ducks his head, his lips descending onto yours with sweet, unrestrained need. 

Unable to touch him back, you let your eyes slip shut with the soft presses of his mouth, taking everything he gives you. Everything about Jungkook in this moment is soft; his lips, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones, even the subtle scent of vanilla as his hair tickles your face - but the stiff grip in your hair is anything but, reminding you where exactly you are and the hand you’re under.

Your breath hitches as two things happen at once; Jungkook’s tongue presses into your mouth, deepening the kiss, and behind you Hoseok shifts, getting up on the bed behind you. Though you can’t see him, you become even more aware of his commanding presence, through the simple gesture of a fingertip, tracing beside lines of rope with a touch so light you shiver.

“You both look so pretty for me,” Hoseok murmurs warmly, his voice closer than you’d expected him to be, sounding like it’s right beside your air. Jungkook doubles his efforts in response, and your core is alight with excitement when you instinctively go to touch him, only to be reminded of the restraint you’re in. 

Jungkook kisses without abandon, not hurried but deep and purposeful. Though you still tremble under Hoseok’s teasing touch, your mind is so enraptured by Jungkook’s tongue in your mouth and teeth on your lips that you lose track of it. 

The camboy doesn’t dare venture his hands further than your face, cupping it so tenderly as he delves into you, so your eyes fly open with shock when two fingers are suddenly slipping through your folds, running over your clit for a single delicious moment of pleasure. You moan in shock and pull away to look down.

Between your kneeling legs is the slender but calloused hand of your Master himself, wrapped around your front and slipping inside you without question like you’re his. His to explore, his to ruin. You pant at the intrusion of two fingers, clenching around him, but his only response is to tug suddenly at your hair, pulling your gaze back up again.

Nipping sharply at the bridge of your ear, Hoseok scolds you. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he growls harshly, “did I?”

“Sorry, Master,” you reply without thinking, barely a moment before you let out a muffled squeak from Jungkook joining you together again, wasting no time to obey. 

Hoseok doesn’t stop his motions between your legs; on the contrary, he continues without pause, fingers moving inside you with a steady urgency. 

For a while, your brows furrow, hips rocking below him. He keeps missing your g-spot, fingers too straight to press against it on each thrust, and he moves to three fingers without touching your clit at all, hand held foward off of you to avoid friction. You moan brokenly into Jungkook’s mouth as you realise Hoseok’s doing it intentionally, stretching you out almost clinically, without regard or want for your pleasure. You go weak at the thought, sinking forward into Jungkook’s embrace, but soon enough the fingers are removed from you completely. Empty and unsatisfied just like earlier, you huff and begin to kiss the camboy more frantically, desperate for some pleasure to replace it. 

But Hoseok clearly isn’t having it. “Stop,” he commands shortly, “hands off.”

Jungkook sits back quickly, making sure you won’t slump over before he presses his hands to his thighs again, cock twitching at the continued neglect. Blinking, he licks his swollen lips and glances behind you to Hoseok in confusion. “Master?”

Your mouth goes dry when you hear the unmistakable sound of a zip being lowered. Hoseok’s hand leaves your hair suddenly, and you feel unmoored between the two men, just you and your hands tucked under your chin. “You tasted her pretty little pussy in Week One, didn’t you, Jungkookie? Would you like her to return the favour?”

Eyes wide, you drop your gaze down to Jungkook’s aching dick, as it twitches and leaks another thin trail of precum, the boy groaning. “Please, Master.” His fingers flex, holding back from touching it. “‘Hurts,” he whines.

You bite your lip, mouth watering. He’s not as big as Namjoon, but you know how fully he filled you just yesterday, and to have him in your mouth… “Please,” you croak out, fingers wiggling in the air as you’re unable to lower yourself to him. 

“Good girl,” Hoseok praises, hands strong on your shoulders as he helps you down, elbows propping yourself up awkwardly in the space that Jungkook’s shuffled back from. “Gotta warm Kookie up too, don’t we? Open up, princess.”

Like this, you’re able to keep upright, but barely, craning your neck to look up at Jungkook. His cock is in front of you, and this close you can see just how flushed it is, the tip almost perfect. Hoping your pleading gaze can communicate your desperation, you open your mouth, letting your tongue rest just over your bottom lip.

Jungkook’s brows furrow in wanton need as he glances towards Hoseok. “Can I touch her, Master? Help her?”

“Of course,” Hoseok’s voice allows from behind you, palms running over the flesh of your ass, “but my little prince better not cum.”

Jungkook visibly shivers at the nickname, hips jerking uselessly. “Y-yes, Master,” he allows, before tipping your chin up so gently, gripping himself to guide his length into your waiting mouth. 

You moan the moment your lips wrap around his tip, the tang of his precum bursting on your tongue as you flick it over the slit, making Jungkook thrust up again, enough that his cock reaches the back of your mouth. You’re barely able to avoid gagging, but you inhale harshly through your nose, blinking up at him as he brushes your hair back with a shaky apology. 

Knowing he can’t orgasm, Jungkook seems happy enough to lazily roll his hips, just enjoying the wet warmth around him as you follow his rhythm, enjoying the slight ache of your jaw around his girth. Hoseok gives you only a few moments to reach this equilibrium before you feel his cock lining up against you. 

Eyes widening, you’re given no time to prepare as he slides inside you, slowly but without pause, making your back arch with the intrusion.

You moan, muffled, as Hoseok pulls out and begins to pick up a steady pace, once again sliding right past your g-spot, not fast enough to make your toes curl and not deep enough to make your eyes roll. There’s no denying he’s doing it on purpose, and the thought that he might not let you cum at all has you whining desperately around Jungkook’s cock, loud enough that Hoseok hears.

To your disappointment, he tsks and pulls out, tugging at your hair to pull you off Jungkook. “What the fuck?” you complain bitterly, sucking off the drool that’s accumulated in the corners of your mouth. Equally deprived, Jungkook makes a noise of confusion, but before he can speak up, a commanding voice calls out to you.

“That’s it, on your back,” Hoseok orders, making you jump as he smacks the flesh of your ass. “If you’re gonna be ungrateful you won’t get anything at all.”

You pout, craning your neck to look back at him. “Hobi,” you whine, hoping to appeal to that soft inner that got you what you wanted the last time you were scening with him, but it doesn’t work. 

Impatient, his hands find your hips, flipping you around unceremoniously. Your breath is punched out of you as you’re suddenly landing on your back, and you whimper as he hooks a finger in your harness over the top of your breast, using it to tug you higher up the bed so that him and Jungkook are on either side of your waist. 

“You’ve been far better behaved,” Hoseok directs at Jungkook casually, reaching into the duffle bag to pull out a square foil packet, “so you’ll get my cock instead.”

Jungkook bites his lip harshly, shuffling on his knees as Hoseok rolls a condom on. “Thank you, Master,” he replies politely, eyes lidded and needy. 

“What a good boy,” Hoseok coos, reaching over to brush a fond hand over Jungkook’s cheek. “Do you wanna fuck Y/n too, my little prince?” You let out a low groan at the prospect, at the way Hoseok speaks for you like you’re a toy of his. The thought is more erotic than you’d expect, and your legs part unconsciously.

Jungkook whimpers at the sight, dark hair curling at his temples with perspiration. “Please, Master.”

“Go on, then, baby.” Hoseok gestures for him to straddle you, and you whimper as Jungkook’s form blocks the light from the ceiling, framing him in a silhouette of dark hair. 

Your legs part further as he settles between them, cock brushing between your folds lightly until he puts a hand down to line himself up. With one arm bracing himself, Jungkook slowly drives his cock deep inside you, small rocking motions to get you accustomed to him as he bottoms out. The two of you groan in unison, the feeling of being full again like bliss.

Before Jungkook can set a pace, you hear Hoseok’s voice again behind him. “There’s only one thing,” the dom adds in an apologetic tone, “Y/n hasn’t earned an orgasm yet, not like my sweet prince has. If you want to fuck her, Jungkookie, she better not cum.”

You let out a frustrated moan, heel kicking into the mattress. “Fuck,” you whine, hips already rocking against Jungkook’s length inside of you, “are you serious?”

Calmly, Hoseok clicks open a bottle of what must be lube, and you feel Jungkook go lax above you, holding his weight off of your torso but dropping his head onto the bed beside yours, groaning lowly. “Of course I’m serious,” he explains simply as he preps Jungkook with his fingers, “I’m doing you a favour, Y/n. This way you won’t make the same mistake twice.”

You sob, feeling Jungkook twitch inside you from the pleasure he’s receiving from Hoseok. As the dom finally deems Jungkook ready and lines himself up, you realise why Hoseok was so popular at his job. Handling two subs, let alone one who was getting punished and one who was now getting rewarded, was a tough balance, and yet he does it with such cool and professional ease. 

Jungkook curses, rocking his hips with stuttered gasps, and you feel the impact of Hoseok’s hips through Jungkook’s body as he thrusts the first time, the camboy hurriedly throwing his other arm up on the other side of your head to prop himself up with more stability. You can feel the rhythm as he gets fucked, and the way his chest heaves, breaths panting over your bare shoulder. 

With your hands tied to your chest and lain on your back, you quickly realise there is nothing you can do to chase any pleasure for yourself, and you let out another low sob. You won’t be making the same mistake twice indeed, you muse as Jungkook barely shifts inside you. He feels so good, but it’s just not enough for you to get anywhere close to your own high. The lesson has most certainly been learned; if you want pleasure, you play by Hoseok’s rules.

“Please, Master,” you pipe up desperately, looking past Jungkook’s shoulder to the dom’s face, calm even as his hips rock with the graceful fluidity of a dancer, every stroke making Jungkook cry out. “I’ll do anything, Master, I’m sorry for being bad, just please let me come!”

A grin spreads across his face, satisfied, even as he grunts from exertion, Jungkook trembling above you as he’s brought mercilessly to the edge. “It’s too late for that,” Hoseok pants out with a chuckle, “it’s already time for my little prince to cum.”

Jungkook moans, a high-pitched keen at the pet-name, and the sound is so sinful you can’t help but clench, making him stiffen impossibly inside you. 

It only takes a thrust or two more, and a gruff command to cum before Jungkook does just that, spilling inside you with a drawn-out whine, thanking his Master with every breath he can suck into his lungs. 

He manages to keep his weight off of you as he rides his high, Hoseok fucking him into oversensitivity before he pulls out, leaving briefly to discard the condom. Jungkook pulls out of you with a wince, but a satisfied one, and rolls over onto his back, running his fingers under the lines of rope lazily as he catches his breath.

Once Hoseok returns, he begins untying you first, and as your wrists are loosened from your chest and promptly released, the cool air on your skin feels like defeat. Your eyes slip shut, a pout no doubt on your lips as you give him nothing but dead weight, forcing the professional to manhandle your torso as he undoes the rope bit by bit. 

You open your eyes once he’s done, frowning at him as he releases the rope from Jungkook’s body. Without looking, Hoseok chastises you. “Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, “I’m sure next time you’ll be behaved like our Jungkookie here.” The boy in question preens softly at the compliment, blinking up at Hoseok as the dom brushes his hair out of his eyes.

The sight warms your heart, and you can’t deny that Hoseok has the right to discipline you, no doubt feeling self-conscious about his place on the show. And the feeling of him playing you so skilfully is something that will stick with you for a good while. You press your thighs together, sighing out at the slick still between them.

After finishing with Jungkook, speaking quietly with him in praise or reassurance, he comes back around to you, rubbing at the few red marks on your chest and wrists that have appeared from your movements. His eyes search your face, and you’re surprised to see the absolute calm in them, clearly switched out of the Master persona and just into a dominant but caring one. “Not hurt?” 

You shake your head after taking the time to really think it through, wiggling your fingers and toes.

“Not angry?” 

Again, you take a moment to consider, but shake your head.

Hoseok smiles down at you, warm as he squeezes your hands fondly. “Good. Now I know you can’t sleep in your own bed, so Jungkookie has kindly offered for you to stay here with him. Take care of each other, okay? I’m just down the hall.”

By the time Hoseok zips up his pants - you note that even after all that, you hadn’t seen him properly naked - and gathers his bag, Jungkook’s managed to slip his legs under the blankets, snoring away peacefully with the aftermath of a good orgasm.

After the dom leaves, you get under the covers yourself, watching the relaxing cycle of Jungkook’s chest rising and falling, the way his eyes flutter lightly in his sleep, but it doesn’t lull you to unconsciousness.

Instead, the unsatisfied throb between your legs just grows more ferocious than ever. If you could just get yourself off…

Your hand trails down, slipping between your legs naturally, but the first swipe of your index finger against your clit gives you pause. Hoseok had pretty clearly stated that you weren’t to masturbate without permission unless you were in a scene with another contestant and, well… 

You grimace as Jungkook snuffles in his sleep, wriggling around to get more comfortable. You can’t exactly wake him up.

Which leaves you with only one option.

Fuck it. As quietly as you can, you slip out of bed, stumbling over to your pile of clothes. After retrieving your phone - still somehow tucked neatly into your pants pocket - you hop back into bed and seek out the one contact who can alleviate your need. Hoseok himself.

You answer the call with shaking fingers, those not still buried inside you. When Hoseok’s voice comes through, it’s thankfully quiet and low, but the words still make you keen.

“Princess couldn’t wait until the morning, hm?” Hoseok chuckles quietly at your whine of response. “That’s okay. Let Master help you.”

You sigh out, sitting the phone so that it lies on the pillow beside you. “Please, Master,” you whisper, “can I touch my clit?”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, “such a polite girl now. Baby took her lesson well. You can touch it, princess. Get yourself close for me.”

When you change the angle of the fingers thrusting inside you to make room to rub at your clit, you could cry from the satisfaction, biting your lip to muffle the moan that’s pulled from your lungs. 

Glancing quickly beside you to ensure Jungkook’s asleep, the sight of him sleeping so peacefully as you get off right beside him has you clenching down, and your back arches off the bed. 

Your high is close, and the faster you strum your clit frantically, the more you pant, desperate to keep quiet. Your mouth drops open as you suddenly feel the orgasm approaching, and you turn to the phone on the pillow, getting close enough that he can hear your whisper. “I’m go-gonna cum, Hoseokie, fuck,” you choke out before quickly pressing your lips together, preventing further noise.

His voice is low velvet on the phone, a calm command. “Cum for Master now, princess.”

You feel your orgasm hit you like a tsunami, crashing so violently that you curl over your hands, shivering and convulsing as pleasure rocks every inch of your body. As it floods you entirely, you feel hot tears stream down your face, ones you didn’t even know you were shedding. Your thighs shake and your chest heaves and you don’t stop your fingers until there’s no more pleasure left to be milked from you. 

When you finally cum down from your high, panting, you fumble clumsily for the phone. “Tha-thank you, Master.”

Perhaps it’s the post-orgasm delirium, but you swear you hear the smile in his voice when he murmurs, “you’re most welcome, princess. Now get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

After hanging up, you lock your phone and chuck it down onto the carpet beside the bed carelessly, the wetness between your thighs no longer uncomfortable, now just a satisfying reminder of the pleasure he finally allowed you. Taking one last look at the tranquil face of Jungkook as he slept, you let yourself join him in a blissful unconsciousness.

ELIMINATION GRAPH

No elimination this week ! What a doozy, huh? If you were curious, here are the results of the vote!

It was taken after exactly 48 hours of the poll being open, and required a sign-in with email to prevent spamming so that it was as fair as possible!

In the future, we’ll use this format for both Fan Favourite and Elimination voting. I’ll tell you the top three for audience fan-favourites in the following chapter, and for elimination you’ll find out Y/n’s final decision in the following chapter, plus this graph at the end for the complete results.

Thanks for all your support !

[crystal-moon-101]

Right! So I’ve decided to do some redesigns again, planning on doing the main villains of Generator Rex, Ben 10 and The Secret Saturdays. Vilgax and Argost will be coming up soon, but I thought I’d start with Van Kleiss, as this fellow has been an interest of mine for sometime, in terms of the potential of his character. Unlike the other two, I’ve always just...felt like Van Kleiss didn’t need to be dog kicking evil to be a villain for Rex, that being evil for the sake of evil wasn’t something they needed to do to make him and Rex opposed to each other. I’m not saying to make Van Kleiss soft hearted and kind to every person he meets, but add more of a complicated story to him, show more to this man than just a jerk who likes being a jerk. After all, this is a show about things not being so black and white. So I shall share my rewrite background for him! I should also note that I mentioned in the Hong Kong Gang redesign that Circe is his daughter, so that will tie into this. Warning for mentions of deaths by illnesses and murder!

“Van Kleiss is a man you could say has not had the easiest of life, especially when it comes to social things. Raised by strict parents with high expectations, he felt like he was never good enough for them, eventually kicked out of their home for not living up to their ideals. He wasn’t exactly good with making things either, coming off as odd, a strong loner who was easy to mess with. Most of this resulted in him being anti-social for quite sometime, afraid to reach a out hand to people incase they bite back. Then, while trying to live his young adult life the best he could with what he had, he was caught up in a terrible accident, one that resulted in him losing his left arm. He was stuck in recovery for a long time, with no visitors of course. He was quite use to being alone at this point, a cast out in people’s eyes, so you could imagine his surprise when meeting his physiotherapy, a bright, young woman around his age by the name Cassandra, who was in no way put off by Van Kleiss’s demeanor. He will admit, he was taken aback by how pleasant she was, so chipper and ready to strike up a conversation with him, kind and gentle towards him as she helped him learn to live with a prosthetic, and yet would also respect his boundaries, treating him....human, for a lack of a better word. At first, Van Kleiss was keen to just stay quiet and ignore her, mostly uttering how short sentences to try and make things process quicker. But there was just something about her that made him feel alright, calm, as if those walls he built up to protect himself weren’t needed when she was around. It was like some strange magic Cassandra had, slowly able to get him to open up more, share stories, ideas, goals, dreams, thoughts, never once judging Van Kleiss for the person he is, while others had been so quick to. Quite the people pleasing person she was, the opposite to Van Kleiss, but he wasn’t complaining, especially when the fool started realizing his he beginning to fall head over heels for this woman. He was a bumbling mess when asking her out the first time, and yet it somehow worked. Life seemed to be going up hill since then, the two hitting it off so fast, becoming a couple, then finances, and suddenly marriage was right around the corner. And just when Van Kleiss felt like he didn’t need anyone else other than her, another surprise came in the presence of their daughter, Circe. A family life wasn’t something he had thought about, nor did he think he would ever get the chance, but here he was and he was happy to be there, he had even gone back to school to study. But...he bad luck in life would soon return. Circe had only just turned five when it began to happen, and no one had seen it coming. Cassandra was starting to seem off, tired, dizzy and feeling faint often, at first assuming it was the flu or something...but she didn’t get better, instead getting worse. She started collapsing, struggling to breath, eventually coughing up blood. She had gotten sick, a disease infecting her that had no known cure. The best they could do was pray that she could recover, could beat it, after all she was a tough woman, with a lot of hope and love from her family. Sadly, love isn’t always going to be enough, and Cassandra passed away after saying her final goodbyes to her daughter and husband... Struck with grief, Van Kleiss went quiet, a haze with his manners. He wanted to scream, cry, yell at the world for taking away his love, the one who showed him why he should keep going in life. But he didn’t allow himself, for he had to keep himself steady for the sake of his daughter. Circe needed him, and he was afraid to see what would happen if he gave into those painful feelings of grief inside him. So he locked it away, and pushed forward in life, eventually graduating school and began looking for a job. He applied and worked for a few places, but none of them really stick, especially since he still struggled to get along with people. Many were still uncomfortable around him, or quick to crack a nasty joke at his expense. He did his best to ignore it, again locking it all away, pushing forward for him and his daughter. And then, one day, he caught word of a project in the making. The nanite project, rumors of microscope machines being built to do many tasks, like solve world hunger, regrow limbs and even cure disease. The thought of something able to help others survive something his wife could not...it caught Van Kleiss’s interest, something he could do to honor his late wife. And so, after some applications and interviews, Van Kleiss eventually found himself landing a role in this project, which also meant him and Circe would move to the labs location. It was hard to pull Circe away from the life she already knew, but he felt it was for the better. But there were to noticeable issues right away. Again, the way people saw and treated him, and his general demeanor sparked some problems with other scientists. Most kept it professional, but many cast doubtful or harsh clears his way, or mutter whispers about him. He was use to most of this, though...he did end up caught in quite the nasty rivalry with a certain man. Caesar Salazar. Neither of them knew exactly why, but right from the bat the two did not like each other. Maybe it was because they were similar in many ways, maybe it’s because they both were bad a socializing, maybe each other’s backgrounds caused some sparks. They just could not stand each other, quick to criticize the other and speak badly. It did help that Van Kleiss felt like he had no one backing him up, as many were already familiar with the Salazars and were even friends with them, while Van Kleiss was alone in the ordeal. Strangely though, the opposite could be said with the younger brother, Rex Salazar. It didn’t take long for Circe and Rex to meet and become friends, given they were the only two kids there, which often resulted in Van Kleiss watching and babysitting the two in his lab space, sometimes even getting dragged into their games. He was happy that his daughter wouldn’t be lonely out here, but Rex being her friend wasn’t why he thought the kid was good, it was rather his friendship with Van Kleiss himself. Rex was a lovely kid, very kind and understanding for his age. While he cracked jokes and often got into trouble, he treated Van Kleiss like a human being, and often liked talking to the man and asking him many questions. Van Kleiss was a little stand-offish at first, but the kid managed to soften his heart a little. Things seemed to be going as good as they could for a while, but then things started happening. It first started with Rex’s accident. Van Kleiss had been watching Circe and Rex, but when he got caught in something, the two snuck off to play hide and seek. Next thing anyone knew, Rex got caught in a lab accident in the main nanite room. It took a while to get him out of there, as there had been a lock down to prevent any loss nanites to escape, but he was quick to be rushed to the medical section of the labs. He was found to be close to death, with no normal means to save him, but Rex also had a few nanites in him from the accident. However, instead of taking them out, the nanite project group, including Van Kleiss, decided in the end to try and use the nanites to save him, with the help of the Omega to the side. After a long struggle, it eventually began to work. Things became complicated for Rex, now being used in testing, developing strange technological powers he was struggling to control, now feeling off...different. Van Kleiss and Circe were there to support him, but because Van Kleiss had been the one who was suppose to watch him before the accident, there was tension between the Salazar and Kleiss families. Eventually, while there were new changes, lab life started to go back to focusing on the project, even a new member called Ebony Hale (Black Knight) joining as an assistant. Things started going back to normal, or as normal as they could be, until that fateful day. Word got out in the chief scientist that their sponsors, The Consortium, had no only put a unknown spy among them, but were planning to use the nanites to take over the world. A large debate broke out on what to do, some arguing to destroy the nanites and all the data on them, some saying to keep the project going but find a way to keep the Consortium out of it, and some even saying they just wanted to do the project and didn’t care if the Consortium taking control. Van Kleiss was part of the side saying to keep the work, but kick out the Consortium. But eventually it was decided to destroy the project. But the spy must have caught wind of this, as while they began to remove their work, the Consortium sent in a heavily armed team to take out everyone on the project. During the chaos many things happened. Not having time to get rid of everything, members of the project decide to give Rex the Omega to hold onto, as he has enough experience with nanites to handle it for a few hours. Van Kleiss did try to say otherwise, not thinking it was fear on Rex, especially when his parents and Caesar agreed to this. In the end they did end up giving Rex the Omega, with the plan that he would meet Caesar at the docking bay. Van Kleiss had originally wanted to go with him and take Circe, but next thing they knew armed soldiers came in and everyone spilt. Rex managed to wander by as not only did the soldiers have no interest with the kid, but Ebony, who turned out to be the spy, ended up letting him past without knowing what he was hiding. Van Kleiss and Circe ended up running into Rex’s parents, who were busy trying to wipe the computers. The three parents got into quite the arguments, with Van Kleiss eventually leaving the room with his daughter, only to be confronted by some soldiers. They noted that the room that Van Kleiss just left was locked, so they made him an...offer. Either he unlocks the door and let them in, or they kill him and Circe where they stand. Despite how harsh the Salazars were on Van Kleiss, even he didn’t want to make this choice...but after everything, and looking down at his own daughter...he made the choice to let them in, holding his daughter as they heard gun fire. With everything coming to a head, it suddenly happened. With scientist messing with computers and machines, soldiers raining bullets everything, and Rex off somewhere glitching out with the Omega, it just became too much and the nanite event happened. A massive explosion that sent out a wave of unfinished nanites across the world, and for Van Kleiss, everything went white briefly... Then, he opened his eyes...finding himself feeling different. To his shock, he found himself to be mutated, his prosthetic arm gone, now replaced with an arm of wood and vines, a deep connection to the earth around him. Thankfully, his daughter was still by his side, but she two had changed, with the agility to emit a powerful scream. As days turned to weeks and then to months, Van Kleiss found himself turning his old home into something new...into a place that him and the out cast could belong into...But after everything that happened, the things he lost and was hurt by, he began to put up those walls again. He could no longer risk getting attached, not if he were to complete his goals....” And there we go! My tale about Van Kleiss in my rewrite. It does go into other things that I will eventually write down that happened in this rewrite, but it’s a good place to start as any. I wanted to give him a tragic back story, something that shows why he behaves the way he does today, and how it ties into his goals. I like the idea that he does believe in the dream of turning everyone EVO and ruling them, but so that he can start a new age and era where people don’t have to be out casts anymore. After all, if everyone is different a monster, then no one can be judged, at least in his mindset. So Abysus is a safe haven for EVOs that need a home, and he does want the best for his subject. The only problem is that one, Van Kleiss doesn’t want to get deeply attached to anyone, as many past friendships eventually failed on him, so it’s bound to happen again, and two, he can get a little power made because well, he’s spent so long being the underdog and kick to the ground, so it feels great to be able to be the one standing tall. It also helps make him feel like Rex’s opposite, not only with the nature vs technology design for the two, but the idea that one is someone who wants to get attached to people, while the other is someone who doesn’t want to get attached anymore. A tragic hero and a tragic villain, who have history tied together. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my version of Van Kleiss, and for hearing me ramble! 💙

[astarryon]

Promise Me

Ten Minutes and Two Centimeters

Warnings: Arguing, anger, light language

Chapter Summary: Spencer’s been given one more chance to make himself clear. He’s determined not to waste it.

Masterlist

Chapter Four: I Want to Take It With Me

He’s always hated hospitals.

When people ask, he tells them it has to do with trivial attributes. The lights are too bright, there are far too many germs milling about, the mass amount of crying people make him uncomfortable. And while those are all true, while he really doesn’t care for those aspects of hospitals at all, Spencer knows in his heart that it’s less to do with any of that and more to do with what hospitals symbolize for him.

People leave. It’s something he’s learned at much too early an age, yet is also something he’s still learning to cope with. His father left when he was a boy, with little more than a scrap of paper by way of explanation. His mother had gone away to the sanitarium when he was eighteen, and though he’d been the one to send her there, he’d still felt the loss. Gideon left. JJ left. Emily faked her death.

People leave.

It’s true. And with as many people who have left him over the years, Spencer figured he’d be used to it by now. But then he’d held you in his arms, cradled you as your blood slowly crept its way out of your body and onto the floor, and he’d suddenly realized that he wasn’t quite as acclimated to loss as he’d initially thought. He knows this, because when the doctor comes to alert him to the fact that you’re conscious and asking for him, it’s all he can do to keep himself from bolting upright and running straight to your room.

He does walk at a quick enough pace to earn him a dirty look from a passing nurse. Any other day, he’d make the fort to slow down and apologize. But today isn’t any other day, and he doesn’t slow his steps until he’s made it to your door and sees, with his own eyes, that you’re sitting up and smiling.

“There you are,” you giggle, beaming up at him with wide, excited eyes, and the look you give him is so reminiscent of the one on your face from last Valentine’s Day that he’s left breathless. “It’s rude to keep a girl waiting you know.”

And he wants to do witty. Really, he does, because he knows it’ll leave your face with a smile larger than life, and considering he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to see that smile again up until two hours ago when the doctors notified him you’d made it through surgery, it’s all he wants. But there’s too much going on in his head, too many dark almosts and what-ifs to be properly ignored for the sake of rejoicing. This is a happy moment — and, really, he’s bursting with joy at the sight of your open eyes — but it’s not something he can display outwardly just yet. He’s too... there are too many things that need to be said before any of that takes place.

His silence confuses you, made evident by the confused glint in your eye that’s just beginning to overshadow your wide grin. “Spence?” you prompt, tilting your head to the side. The machine you’re hooked up to beeps with the spike in your heart rate, and he has to go out of his way not to tease you for it. “Did you hear me?”

Your tone shifts, and he hears the worry in your voice just as he takes note of how it begins to curl your mouth into a frown. “Spencer,” you try again, quietly pleading. He hates himself for what he’s doing, but he can’t seem to stop himself from allowing the events he’s set in motion to play out. “Spencer, what’s wrong?”

He has to say it. Before anything else, he has to say it.

Spencer swallows hard against the lump in his throat. Liquid hellfire burns his eyes in the form of unshed tears. “Do you know,” he chokes out, “how incredibly unlucky a person has to be to get hit with a shot like that? Actually shot? You were wearing a vest. The bullet hit you a centimeter too high. One centimeter lower and we would’ve walked out of there in the next thirty seconds. Two centimeters higher and you’d have—“ He cuts himself off, the horrid taste of potentials staining his tongue uninvited. He doesn’t even want to say it, doesn’t want to give power to what could have happened to you tonight. To what almost happened to you tonight.

“Spencer,” you whisper, reaching for his hand, but he snatches it out of reach before you can make contact.

“No,” he insists, wringing his hands together. He has to keep them preoccupied. His body seems steadfastly determined to betray his mind, and much as he wants to, he can’t let that happen. There are certain things he needs to get off his chest, say out loud, before he can even think about letting himself give into you. It’s the only way to make sure. It kills him, but it’s the only way. “You don’t understand, I almost… I could’ve lost you tonight. You were ten minutes and two centimeters away from dying in my arms.”

“But I didn’t,” you counter, and he knows. He sees the furrow of your brow, the stubborn set to your delicate jaw, and he knows you’re about to throw it all right back at him. “I’m still here, Spencer, you still have me.”

“Because of chance!” He doesn’t realize he’s shouting until he see you flinch, but he can’t stop, can’t back down. “You’re still alive because of dumb luck! Dumb, stupid luck, that very easily could��ve gone the other way!”

“But it didn’t,” you shoot back, and Spencer has to kill the urge to scoff. As if that’s an excuse.

“It could have.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t!”

“It could have!”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“Because you gave up!” Spencer roars, tears pricking like thorns at the corners of his eyes. “You gave up, and the worst part about it is that you expected me to just be okay with it! Don’t—“ He flings a hand through the air to silence you as soon as your mouth opens. He’s seething, shaking, boiling with rage. He has to get it all out, and he has to do it now, or he risks poisoning any chance of your future together with unspoken resentment. “You started talking about yourself like you were already dead! Started making me promise that I wasn’t going to let losing you stop making me smile! Do you even— do you know how ridiculous that is? How unfair? You were bleeding out in my arms, and you were worried about my fucking smile? I was two centimeters away from having to bury you six feet underground, and you were worried about my smile? My smile should’ve been the last thing on your mind!”

He expects you to yell back at him. It’s only fair, after all, and he wouldn’t fault you for taking cheap shots at him the way he’s taking cheap shots at you. In some sick, twisted way, he almost wants you to, if only to find some confirmation that he isn’t alone in feeling the severity of this situation so deeply. Doesn’t it effect you? Doesn’t the fact that the rest of your life was nearly stolen away right out from under you bother you? Aren’t you seething over the fact that the rest of your forever was nearly cut short?

If you are, you make no show of it. You don’t raise your voice, you don’t curse, you don’t take it out on him the way he’s taking it out on you. You only blink, analytical appraisal clear as day in your tired eyes, and not for the first time since you’d come into his life, Spencer is left to marvel over how much better a person you are than he is. He could never say something like that out loud — thinking you’d ever let him get away with it is, in a word, naive — he knows the truth, even if the chances of you admitting to it are nonexistent.

You prove him right when you reach forward slowly, keeping eye contact and making sure you have permission, before resting your hand against the mangled mess of his own. “Spencer,” you murmur, searching his face. For what, he’s not entirely sure, but you must find it judging by the degree of which your eyes soften. “What is this about?”

“I told you,” he tries, knowing all too well that he doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest. You see him much too clearly — he should have known better than to think he could hide what was truly bothering him from you. “You almost died in my arms, I... it was too much to handle.”

“No, Spence,” you tell him, the embodiment of patience. “I mean what’s this about, really?” You make it clear that you aren’t leaving any room for protests this time around.

So Spencer decides to tell the truth.

“You almost died,” he whispers, shaking his head. “And I realized if you had, you’d never...”He can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the floor, to look up at you and memorize every inch of your face a million times over like he wants to. The way he’s acting, he’s not particularly sure he deserves the luxury. “You’d have never known. I never told you.”

“Never known what?” you ask gently, blinking in pursuit of understanding. “Never told me what?”

“That I love you,” Spencer breathes, gripping your hands so tightly he can feel your pulse through your fingers. “I love you so much I can barely fucking breathe sometimes. I love when you laugh about things that only you think are funny because no one else understands the joke. I love the way you can’t seem to sit still for more than fifteen seconds at a time because there’s so much on your mind and not enough time in the world to get it all out. I love the way you let me talk your ear off about things you’ve never heard of and don’t care about, even though I’m sure I must bore you out of your mind sometimes. I love— I love your smile! You always tell me I have a beautiful smile, but the truth is it doesn’t hold a candle to yours, and I— I don’t understand how you don’t see that! I love you, do you hear me? From the very bottom of my heart, I love you so fucking much. I love you.”

For a moment, you fall silent, and the only sound traded between the two of you is the steady beat coming from your heart monitor, incredibly consistent considering all the yelling. But then a chuckle falls from your mouth. Spencer is so shocked that at first he thinks it’s an odd sounding cough, but then it happens again, and then again, and he’s able to piece together what’s happening with the addition of the succession.

“Spencer,” you wheeze, clutching at your chest. He hopes you aren’t in pain. His ears are turning red with embarrassment and he can’t believe you’re laughing at him at a time like this, but he really hopes you aren’t hurting. “You don’t think I know that already?”

He blinks, mind shorting out. “Well, I— I never told you.”

“You never had to,” you go on, the widest grin he’s ever seen your mouth make splitting your face from ear to ear. Spencer doesn’t think he can remember a time when you’ve ever looked so positively delighted. “Spencer, I wouldn’t have... we wouldn’t have gotten this far if I didn’t think you loved me. I wouldn’t have let it.”

You knew. You’d known this whole time. All this time — all those nights tangled in his bedsheets with your arm secured around his waist, all those good morning texts and flirtatious jabs at the office, wondering when everyone else was going to catch on to your little game. All those sweet kisses and affectionate embraces and evening walks beneath the starlit sky. All those different ways he’d tried to silently convey it, and you’d been picking up on his meaning the whole time.

Had he known... had he known that you’d known...

“I’m sorry,” Spencer whispers. It’s all he can think to say.

“You don’t need to be,” you tell him with a resolute shake of your head. Of course; you’re the most gracious person he knows, after all. Not even getting yelled at immediately after waking up from emergency surgery could change that. “Just... I know you’ve already made me so many promises tonight. I know that. But will you promise me one more thing?”

“Anything,” he tells you, and he means it with his entire being, body and soul.

“Just... trust that I know,” you murmur, gazing at him with more sincerity than any one person has ever shown him before. “In the way that you know that I love you, trust that I know that you love me. Okay?”

“Okay,” he murmurs, nodding his head. “Okay. I promise.”

You reach for his hands, still tightly clasped in front of him, and this time when your fingers brush his knuckles, he frees one and lets you take it to hold. “I love you, Spencer Reid.”

And for the first time after hearing you speak those words, Spencer isn’t given pause.

“I love you too,” he tells you adamantly.

... And he does.

—

[miss-melon]

Maybe Kaito reacting to his ftm s/o coming out? Hcs or story is fine I don’t mind either way.

Of course anon! I love writing coming out stories!

REQUEST: Kaito’s S/O coming out as trans (FTM)

‼️TW: Gender Dysphoria‼️

‼️Possible TW: Slight anxiety‼️

You and Kaito had been together for a long time and at first, your relationship was almost perfect, except for one thing. Every time Kaito called you his “girlfriend” you always felt sick to your stomach, not because you didn’t love him or anything, but because truth be told, you weren’t really a girl. While yes, that’s what you were assigned at birth, you always knew something was off, it wasn’t until a few years ago that you realized that you were transgender. This secret ate you alive every single day and the fact that the man closest to you had no idea made you feel so guilty, you wanted to tell him so bad but you had no idea how he would react. The last thing you wanted was for the one person you loved to completely abandon you.

Eventually you decided that enough was enough, you couldn’t keep this a secret forever, you had to tell Kaito the truth about your gender identity. You nervously approached your boyfriend as he was standing outside, looking at the stars. He noticed you and waved happily. “Hey Y/N! Look! The stars are really bright tonight! Aren’t they so cool?!” He sounded like a kid on Christmas morning, his enthusiasm was almost contagious, but right now you couldn’t be happy. You were about to tell Kaito a secret that you were terrified to tell him.

“H-hey Kaito... um... c-can I tell you something kinda important...?” You asked him nervously. You could already feel the tears forming in your eyes, the fear nearly paralyzed you, but you needed to tell him no matter what. “Of course you can! Kaito Momota is here to listen!” He said cheerfully as he looked down at you smiling. You looked up at your boyfriend who towered over you and immediately felt a wave of fear. “He’s a lot bigger than me, what if he’s so disgusted by me that he would want to hurt me?” You thought to yourself. You shook it off and cleared your throat. You looked at Kaito and decided that it was now or never.

“Kaito I just need to tell you this because it’s been eating at me for a very long time. Y’see the thing is... i’m... well, i’m actually a boy...” You told him as matter-of-factly as you could. You looked up and saw him tilt his head in slight confusion, he still wasn’t getting it. This only made your anticipation grow, you started to feel the tears spill from your eyes as you looked at him and said two words. Two little words that could potentially change the relationship between you two forever. “I’m transgender.” Time froze after you said that. It got so quiet, you were so scared of what was going to happen next. You closed your eyes as the tears poured from them. As you stood there in complete silence you felt a warm sensation begin to cover your body.

You opened your eyes to see Kaito... hugging you? You were at a loss for words, you didn’t even know what to think, until Kaito spoke up. “Y/N... I just want you to know that... no matter what, I will always love and accept you. You’re such an amazing person and what you just did shows so much strength and courage. I’m starting to question who’s really the sidekick here because your bravery in telling me something that important... well, to put it bluntly, you’re the hero here Y/N. You’re my hero... I would give anything to be as brave as you.” You were so moved by the words Kaito just told you. You returned his hug and just sunk into his loving embrace. “Thank you Kaito... I love you.” You said while overcome with joy. “I love you too Y/N.” Kaito said back.

The two of you walked inside and once you got in, Kaito brought out a few old shirts of his. “These are too small for me now but, I figured you’d feel more comfortable in these than the feminine stuff you normally wear so... here ya go!” Kaito said as he handed you the shirts. You were just so overcome with happiness that you jumped into Kaito’s arms and you two shared a passionate kiss. If you weren’t 100% confident before that you and Kaito’s bond was infinitely strong, you definitely were now.

THE END.

_______________________________________________

Thank you so much for requesting this anon! Coming out stories really do mean so much to me! I hope you liked it!

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 1.6K~

Summary: The question— incomplete, and yet bursting with long-held curiosity— emerges from thin air while he’s about to tuck Steven into bed in the back of the van one night.

In retrospect, no parenting book could’ve ever prepared him for this one.

A Greg and Steven focused fic, set when Steven is freshly four. This is one of those I had on the poll a month or so back, ahah! Finally finished it. Apologies for the wait. The good news is that my list is now whittled down to three non-Crack the Paragon WIPS! Woo! That’s rather exciting.

There’s some brief meta rambles on the AO3 version. If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

“Where’s yours, Daddy?”

The question— incomplete, and yet bursting with long-held curiosity— emerges from thin air while he’s about to tuck Steven into bed in the back of the van one night.

In retrospect, no parenting book could’ve ever prepared him for this one.

“My...?” Smiling encouragingly, he lets the word dangle unfinished in the air for a moment, and gestures to try and prompt the little tyke to continue. “My what, kiddo? My... pajamas?” he says, pointing towards each item his kid bears in succession. “My... stuffed tiger? My very own... tickle monster?!”

In the spirit of good-hearted mischief, Greg tousles his boy’s dark, flyaway curls. When he then moves his hands to tickle his sides, Steven breaks into delighted peals of laughter, squirming nonstop.

“Noooooo,” he giggles breathlessly, batting his small pudgy hands at him to stop the affectionate onslaught. “No tickles, your gem! Like mine! You ‘aven’t never showed it.”

In an instant, the small universe encapsulated inside their van freezes, and he goes momentarily slack-jawed as he struggles to process the words that just came out of his son’s mouth.

“My- w-where’s my gem?”

He lets out a low chuckle at the absurd thought— imagine that, him, having a gem of his own! Where on Earth did his kid acquire this notion? And then... his memory can’t help but drift back to a few hours earlier, when Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl spent a mission-free day with Steven on the beach, surrounded by all manners of summer tourists. Humans coexisting amongst Gems, most entirely nonplussed by their otherworldly appearances. Steven was eagerly padding across the shore in his brand new swim trunks— the pair he received for his birthday just a week ago— the quartz gem at his navel on proud display. Midway through the afternoon, though, the kiddo seemed to become strangely preoccupied by all the human beachgoers. He’d glance at people’s faces, their sternums, their exposed navels, and then scowl in confusion. At one point he excitedly ran up to a dark skinned young woman with hair like Garnet’s to give her a high-five, and returned puzzled, his lips pressed in a thin line. At the time, Greg didn’t understand what all of his bewildered, curious gawking was about, and quietly instructed him not to bother other people. But now, given this latest comment, a theory builds in his mind... oh stars, was he looking for their gems?

Did he somehow assume both from his own and from his frequency of interaction with Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl that everyone had one hidden somewhere?

Swallowing, he deliberately makes it a point to mask his nervousness about this topic in front of his impressionable four-year-old child as best he can. Oh, boy. They haven’t had this sort of conversation yet. He always kinda feared it was coming, coursing towards him like a tidal wave faster and faster with each passing moment, but never in a million years did he imagine this moment would be tonight. And now, his tongue dry as a stone in his mouth, he finds himself at a complete loss for words. As best he knows, there’s no one else even remotely like Steven in the entire universe. How does one even convey this concept to their child in terms they’d understand?

Because even if he— ignoring the rose quartz gemstone embedded flush with his skin where a typical kid’s belly button would be— looks the part, Steven isn’t human. That much is obvious. That’s simply a fact. Humans don’t glow as babies. They don’t grow so ramrod still while sleeping that they appear like they’re not breathing at all. They can’t casually lift double their body weight at the tender age of four. Not to mention, in all his years of life thus far, he’s never gotten sick. Never gotten a scrape or cut that didn’t heal up completely in less than an hour. Not once. There’s no way that’s by mere coincidence, Greg muses, there’s gotta be another reason. He’s gotta have some sort of mega-boosted immune system or something, or magically healing cells. No branch of human science can successfully justify the alien nuances of his son’s existence. He just... is. He’s a walking miracle, the light of his life.

Steven’s never been a normal child, that’s for sure.

But how is a father supposed to lovingly and sensitively explain this to innocent ears?

“I, erm- I don’t have one of those, bud,” he says slow, still desperately sorting through his thoughts to figure out what else to say about this.

The kid stubbornly wriggles free from his arms, lifting up the bottom hem of his baggy pajama shirt to showcase the glittering pink gemstone resting at the center of his belly. “But I got one, an’ Amethyst an’ Pearl got one, an’ Garnet, she- guess what,” he says in an attempt at a whisper, wide eyed as if he’s about to impart some sacred knowledge. “She even got two gems!”

“That’s right, she does have two gems!” he nods, only barely holding back his chuckle at the hilarious solemnity of his kid’s proclamation. “But Steven, not everyone has ‘em like you and them. It’s something unique to the four of you. Y’see, they are Gems, just like me and everyone else in town are humans. It’s, um—“ his speech falters as he struggles to find words someone so young could possibly begin to understand— “it’s sorta just who they are.”

The corners of Steven’s mouth turn downwards in an exaggerated pout, and it’s immediately obvious that this blind, clumsy attempt at an explanation didn’t satisfy him one bit. Greg leans back against the inner siding of the van, gently tugging at a strand of his hair as he scours his mind for any potential solutions to this parenting quandary.

Think, think, think... How does one connect this topic to things such a young kid might understand?

“Listen, uh...” he begins again, marked hesitation tinting his voice. “Pearl’s been teaching you about bugs lately, right?”

However, if Steven— bless his heart— happened to notice his heightened nervousness, he sure doesn’t let it show on his face, instead enthusiastically jumping to answer his question.

“Uh-huh!” he nods, and then proceeds to happily babble about what he’s learned, flapping his hands in front of him as he does so. “She tells me all about bumble bees an’ stick bugs, an’ these...” His brow creases as he pauses, combing his memory for the right words. “...fuzzy worms? But they aren’t worms, ‘cause they sleep for really super long and then, then they get wings and fly away!”

He can’t help but smile at his son’s animation about this subject. He soaks up knowledge like a sponge, that’s for sure. Between Pearl and him, they’ve been trying to introduce him to some of the basics lately, stuff kids his age should know. Like reading, and writing, and counting, and music, and basic science. Pearl does the math and science, (those classes were never his wheelhouse in school), and he takes care of everything else. Given, erm... given their kinda strained history, they don’t exactly collaborate on lesson plans, but so far the arrangement seems to be working out okay. Steven’s having fun, at least, which is all that matters in the end.

“Oooh, caterpillars and butterflies, huh?” he says, reaching for the thick blanket folded up against the side wall of the van. “Well, y’wanna learn a cool new thing?”

His son bobs his head, his eyes glittering.

“All those bugs you named?” he begins, unfolding the blanket for the two of them as he goes. “They’re each types of completely different creatures, or, different species, we call ‘em. And humans and Gems, they’re types of species too. And every species has something that makes them unique, different from everything else. You know how all those bugs have special things the others don’t have, like the bumble bees and their stripes, and those caterpillars’ fuzz?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, that’s what it’s like for humans and Gems, too! Garnet and Amethyst and Pearl and you, you all have gemstones, just like yours right here,” he says, tapping a gentle finger over the rose quartz embedded at his midsection. Steven lets out a small giggle at the contact. “That’s your special thing as Gems, something humans don’t have.”

“What’ve humans have?” he asks in curiosity, tilting his head.

Greg purses his lips, his fingers subconsciously massaging the blanket’s rough, time-worn surface as he considers the elements that— from personal experience— he’d consider essential to human life. “Hmm. Well, let’s see... I guess... humans eat, and sleep, and grow from babies all the way until they’re adults. Gems don’t age. They don’t really... do any of that.”

“But I can do that!” he whines, brows creasing.

“Hm?”

“I thought you jus’ said I’m a Gem?”

Greg’s breath stills upon the deliverance of this pointed question, spoken with such youthful innocence, and yet wholly capable of penetrating through every layer of his ill-formed logic. He swallows hard. Once again, he is not prepared. He likely never could be.

His son... oh, his beloved Steven. Without meaning to, he keeps ignoring the inherent humanity that sets this boy apart from the rest of the Gems. He’s similar to them in many respects, yes, but he’s also not. He’s both, but...

He’s also neither.

He’s unique from everyone, his own thing altogether. Something entirely new.

Quite honestly, the best word he can grasp at to describe him is hybrid.

And while at this present moment he has no idea if he’s doing his son a disservice, othering him from the rest of humanity at such a tender age, he figures that he at least deserves to know the truth.

“You’re kinda- uh, both, at once, actually,” he clarifies, these very words acting as a beacon to clarify a wide range of once deep-seeded assumptions in his mind. “Gem and human. You’ve got special things from both sides, how funky is that?”

“Huh.” Steven mulls this new information over, and then flashes a toothy grin. “That's cool!”

[nicknellie]

Wow, it’s so crazy that Noel Gallagher released a song about Sunset Curve and Julie and the Phantoms! Title and lyrics from We’re On Our Way Now by Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds.

Good Luck In The Afterlife

Remember what might have been,

Had I walked you home,

And said, “I’ll see you later,”

You were living the dream,

But when the morning come,

You’d gone to meet your maker.

Bobby couldn’t count the hours he spent wondering what might have happened if he had stopped to think for just one second. If he had reminded himself that the boys were pretty much clueless if he wasn’t there to knock the occasional bit of common sense into them. If he had thought, just for a moment, that maybe they should have all gone to get the food together.

In every scenario that came to his mind, his boys were still alive. Because if he had gone with them that night instead of staying at the Orpheum, he would have noticed that the street-dogs tasted strange. He would have told them it was a bad idea, made them stop eating them, taken them somewhere else to get food. Maybe he would have had to put up with Luke’s grumbling (“They would have been fine, Bobby, it’s not like we’ve ever got sick from street-dogs before.”) but at least his boys would have been safe. Maybe the pizza they ended up getting, or the burgers, or the cheap takeout wouldn’t have been as familiar as a pre-show ritual, but at least they would have still performed together that night. At least Bobby wouldn’t have had to cancel the show, had to identify his best friends’ bodies, had to go through that painful shift to realise that now he was going it alone.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. If he had been there things would have been so different. If he had simply walked them there at the very least and said goodbye to them properly. Maybe then he wouldn’t be feeling so guilty, so struck with this devastating grief. At least that way their last memory of him wouldn’t have been him flirting with some girl instead of hanging out with them on the biggest night of their lives.

It had been stuck in his head for days. All those different what-ifs, those wasted potentials, the moments that could have been the best of their lives. It was so unfair – that night had been setting them up for greatness, possibly the most important night of their careers, and it had come crashing down along with Bobby’s entire world. It was all he could think of. They had been so ready, so excited, so full of life, and in a few short hours it had been snuffed out like a candle burning too brightly.

He remembered waking up the morning after, absently wondering if it was some cruel nightmare, but knowing it wasn’t. That night he had slept in the studio, wanting to be close to his boys in any way he could. Waking up there without them wasn’t the same – if anything it just made the loss hurt more. No matter how brightly the sun was streaking through the windows or how happily the birds outside were singing, Bobby couldn’t make himself believe that it would be a happy day. That any day, from then on, could truly be happy.

He kept thinking about it, everything they could have had, to the point where it felt as if he was remembering a past life or an alternate reality. It was like he was drawing memories from another Bobby’s brain, feeling the fame and freedom they would have held together. It was at that moment that he decided he needed to carry on. He needed to do whatever he could to achieve their dreams alone, to make his boys proud. He was sure that they were out there somewhere, watching over him, cheering him on. They could have had everything, and Bobby was determined to get it for them.

Good luck in the afterlife,

I hear the morning sun doesn’t cast no shadow,

You chose to drift away,

But look at you now.

It was Trevor Wilson who left his mansion that day. It was Trevor Wilson who got in his car and gave his chauffeur the directions of where to go. It was Trevor Wilson who climbed out at the destination, head hooded and bowed to avoid recognition. But it was Bobby who sat in the grass in front of the graves of his three best friends, the boys he had loved and never forgotten, and felt tears pricking at his eyes in the bitter breeze.

He knew he didn’t visit their graves as much as he should have. It always hurt, seeing the three of them together when he couldn’t join them himself, knowing that they were completely unreachable. It was the closest he could get but it just made him feel far away. But when he did visit, he spoke to Luke, Alex, and Reggie. He told them about his music career and how he wished they were building it with him, he talked about his new-born daughter Carrie and how she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, he talked about his memories of them and laughed over stories they wouldn’t hear.

But it was alright. If he imagined it hard enough, Bobby could almost hear them laughing along. Like they were listening to him and keeping him company even from far away.

He wondered what they were doing at that moment, if anything. Ever since they had died Bobby had been curious about the afterlife. Was there one at all? Were his boys all together or had they been separated? Was there a heaven and a hell, or just one place where all departed spirits went? Most importantly, were they alright? He didn’t think he could bear it if he ever found out, somehow, that the boys were unhappy. If they couldn’t have their lives then all he wanted for them was happiness.

He found himself wishing them luck sometimes. Good luck for whatever would come their way. He wished that good things would happen to them, that they would all find their happiness, something that made their souls sing the way they had when they were alive. Something that made Alex’s heart beat like his drums, Reggie’s thud like his bass, Luke’s riff like his guitar.

Over time, Bobby had come to terms with their deaths. It had taken years of therapy, learning to accept that he wasn’t to blame, realising that they would never come back and working out how to be okay with that. Now, he saw it less like they had been ripped away from him and more like they had simply flown the nest, their time up, ready to move on. It wasn’t necessarily true, he knew, not when they’d had so much ahead of them, but thinking about it that way helped.

When he spoke to the gravestones, he would imagine how the boys would reply. Whenever he told them about a new song he had released he heard Luke’s enthusiasm as he told him he’d done a great job, Reggie’s excitement and desperation to hear it and jam along on his bass, Alex’s quiet appreciation of the music and the way he would have hummed the tune under his breath for weeks afterwards. When he had first told them about Carrie he imagined the jokes about him getting old because he was the first to have a kid, and each of them holding her with varying levels of terror and adoration on their faces.

Most of all, he imagined them being proud of him. Proud that he had carried on and persevered this long. Proud that he had built a family from the wreckage he’d been left in and got his confidence back. Proud that even if he was Trevor Wilson now, he was still Bobby at heart.

We’re on our way now,

The truth can be so hard to swallow,

Hey now, ‘cos you’ve got the love, you’ve got the love, lady,

I’m worn out, ‘cos with every little trick they try to drag you down,

You don’t know why.

Luke hadn’t slept since the night they had played the Orpheum. Ghosts didn’t necessarily need sleep, but it was possible – Luke hadn’t even bothered trying. He simply couldn’t believe their luck. They’d struck gold and none of it seemed possible. The whole thing, this entire journey they had been on with Julie in the past few weeks felt like a dream and a nightmare, but he never wanted to wake up.

It had been difficult to begin with. It wasn’t the easiest thing, getting to grips with death and being a ghost, especially when he had apparently missed twenty-five whole years of life on Earth, everything moving on without him and his friends. It had put into perspective how much each individual life really meant – the world didn’t stop when a person died, and there was so much that could be missed in such a short time. There had been the empty space he was greeted with whenever he turned to tell Bobby something, the hollow feeling in his heart whenever he thought of his parents, the conflicted feelings he got whenever he thought about the people he had met in death. The whole thing, this monumental transition, had been harder than anything he’d ever done.

But then there was Julie. Julie, who was light a ray of sunshine to light up his darkest days. Julie, who had talent beyond measure and a heart the size of a planet. Julie, who brought him back to life. She had made it so much easier with her love and her reassurance and her strength. The way she made him feel was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and he couldn’t attribute all of it to her power when she made him, Alex, and Reggie visible. His soul sang for her, a leaping melody of rich highs and gentle lows, composed for her by him. Without her, he wouldn’t have been nearly as happy as he was.

Although he missed Bobby and performing as Sunset Curve, he was glad he got this second chance as part of Julie and the Phantoms. This really felt like their big break, like they were finally on their way to achieving their greatness. In a way, everything would start to feel complete once they put themselves out there and rose to great heights. Bobby had made a name for himself, and it was time for the rest of Sunset Curve to join him, along with one incredibly talented girl who Luke would risk it all for.

But all that didn’t mean he wasn’t frightened. If anything he was even more scared. Now they had so much more to lose – each other and their second chance. He wasn’t sure they’d get a third.

There was only one person that really had a chance of ruining it all again, getting in their way. Caleb. Luke hadn’t seen him since that night and he was glad of it, but also wary. They had no idea where Caleb was, what he was planning, how he was going to get back at them this time. Caleb Covington didn’t seem like the type of ghost who knew when to leave an issue alone. Luke was sure that he would be back.

All that confused him was the fact that Caleb had never really explained why he wanted the boys as part of his band. It seemed like very extreme lengths to go to just because they were good musicians. It made him wonder if he, Alex, Reggie, and Julie had some untapped well of power deep inside each of them. If they did, and if they could harness that strength before Caleb could get to them then Luke was certain that their futures as legends would be cemented. As they deserved.

Good luck in the afterlife,

I hear the morning sun doesn’t cast no shadow,

You chose to drift away,

But look at you now.

Julie thought about her mother a lot. She knew that Rose was looking down on her, that much was certain. If she hadn’t been, then Julie would still be locked away, trapped by her grief, struggling to face each day as it came. She wouldn’t have had the boys, she wouldn’t have been playing music, she would have been quiet and empty still like she had been for so long.

It was Rose she had to thank. When she was alive, Rose would always build Julie up, tell her how much she was worth, that she was loved unconditionally and forever. Julie had thought that would all go away when she passed, but Rose – in her wisdom – had found a way to Julie still. She had carried on sending those messages and signs, showing Julie she loved her rather than telling her, urging her to carry on and be the star she was meant to be.

In return, Julie tried to find ways to thank Rose. She would talk to her because she was certain that she could hear. She would sing for her because Rose had always adored Julie’s voice. She would wear Rose’s old clothes, decorate rooms with dahlias and butterflies, sing along to the songs they had loved to duet while leaving Rose’s part free as if she would sing along too. It wasn’t a lot, but Julie knew that her mother would see it as enough. Julie’s private, quiet ways of honouring her mother would always be worth more than anything.

Sometimes, when she felt pensive, Julie would let herself think about how far she had come. She would stop being modest, just for a minute or two, and admit that she was strong, she was powerful, she was talented, and she deserved every good thing she had got. Julie hated thinking about the darkness she had been stuck in for so long, but when she thought about how she had created her own light and pulled herself out she felt nothing but pride. When she thought about what she was creating with the boys, she felt joy. When she thought about Rose, she felt a pleasant contentedness, knowing she was still there, rather than that damned hollow feeling she’d held for so long.

She could imagine how Rose would have reacted if she had still been there. After the performance at the Orpheum, Rose would have rushed backstage even if she wasn’t allowed, swept Julie up in her arms, twirled her around with a delighted laugh and told her that she was magnificent. She would have been so proud, Julie knew, so Julie felt that pride for herself.

“Look at you,” Rose would have said, straightening Julie’s jacket or running a gentle thumb across her cheek. “You’ve done so well, my little butterfly. You’re a star.”

She would have worked on songs with Julie, sang with her, prepared and supported her for her next gigs with the band. Just thinking of it made Julie realise that she had to do that herself, but it was alright. She could be her own cheerleader – her mother had taught her well and she could see that she had come a long way and deserved to be recognised for it. Besides, she had her dad, brother, and aunt there to remind her of it, as well as Flynn, Luke, Reggie, and Alex.

It wasn’t the same as having Rose, not really. Nothing ever would be. But the feelings Rose gave her would never go away – the confidence, the giddy joy, the focus, the feeling that everything would be alright eventually. Rose and her signs made sure Julie knew that. Julie schooled herself, made sure that she knew it no matter what. She always knew how far she had come and she was nothing less than proud.

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright 

[sledgefuweek]

Each year we take a close look at the prompts for Sledgefu Week, for those who may be stuck for ideas or not quite sure about what the prompts could entail. Below the readmore are all seven prompts, as well as a short write-up exploring what they mean and some ideas to help get the creative juices going. Enjoy!!

Sickfic

This is a really popular and well-known fanfic trope that I feel probably needs little explanation, but I’ll write a little bit about it anyway! It essentially covers fic where one character is ill and the other cares for them -- it could encompass any kind of illness at all, (including chronic illnesses) and there’s a lot of room to get creative with it. You can go for angst, hurt/comfort, or fluff: it’s just a really good general prompt that I think works nicely to kick the week off!

It suits for Sledgefu pretty well, considering Snafu’s canon mild hypochondria, as well as the fact that Eugene’s dad is a doctor. It could be fun to lean into it: make Eugene play doctor for an actually-sick Snafu, and it could be just as fun to subvert it! There’s really endless options for canon fic: shrapnel wounds turned bad, heat-sickness, seasickness, illness from bad food or bad water or any kind of tropical disease you can think of (malaria is a big one!). You could make one of them (or both) a medic; you could genderswap them and write the gay field nurse fic this fandom sorely needs. And of course if you choose to branch out into modern AU you can begin to think of what might afflict them outside of a war setting: has Eugene been working too much and come down with a cold? Are they hungover, and need mutual care (and lots of takeout)? A lot of the time sickfic focuses on one character doing the comforting and the other character feeling unwell, but there’s nothing to say they can’t both be feeling shitty! I think we say this every year but there’s really no rules at all, you do whatever you feel inspired to do. With Sickfic, just be mindful to tag anything that others might be affected by eg. vomiting, blood, needles, etc.

Tarot

I feel like Tarot is pretty well-known to the Sledgefu fandom, or at least to those who like to write Snafu or his family a little witchy. In case you just have a vague idea of what Tarot actually is and what its purpose or origins are, I’ll explain it as concisely as I can! Tarot decks started life in Europe as playing cards, but eventually began to be used for divination. It’s made up of four suits, or the Minor Arcana, (Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles) as well as a twenty-two card Major Arcana (the imagery of which you’re probably very familiar with). Commonly, tarot decks and tarot reading is used as a means of communicating with the higher self, deities, or with the universe. They can be used as a way to see the future, answer questions, or to give/receive advice. There are different ways of reading them too, depending on how one lays out the cards: I don’t want to make this too wordy, but if you’re curious I encourage you to check out this site to learn more!

For writers, there’s a lot of places this prompt could take you! Probably the most obvious will be fortune teller fic; a classic. Lean into Snafu’s Louisiana roots and have him telling fortunes in the depths of the French Quarter, or go against the grain and have Eugene reading cards and palms and tea leaves as a practice passed down through his family. Or maybe more casual: modern AU Sledgefu flirting through amateur tarot readings with a deck picked up from a junk shop. If you read Tarot and have a connection to it, you can express that through writing! It’s a pretty open-ended prompt, especially if you consider some of the meanings of the cards; you could even write a story inspired by that! The Hermit: Snafu withdrawing, leaving Eugene on the train to spend the next few months in solitude, working through things. The Moon: Snafu and Eugene hitting a rough patch, hiding things from each other. The opportunities really become endless once you start taking the readings of the cards into account! And for visual artists, this must be such a fun prompt: I feel like it’s so a visually rich, whether you’re re-drawing the cards to encompass Snafu and Eugene within them, or making a collage based around some of the things mentioned above: fortune tellers shops, witches cottages, etc.

Trinket

Every Sledgefu Week we tend to have a couple prompts that are a little more open to interpretation, and this year’s ‘Trinket’ is one of those. It might be difficult to try and think of something to base a whole fic or piece of art around, but we really encourage you to let your imagination run wild! There’s already some great trinkets in the show itself: Eugene’s ring, the lighter that Gunny Haney gave him, Snafu’s stolen gold teeth, or their dog tags. Think of small, special objects that you might have: what imbues them with comfort or meaning? What makes you love them? You could have Eugene giving Snafu his ring, or have Eugene musing over war and death and loss while smoking a cigarette lit by his lighter. If you’re into Modern AUs, how could these objects carry through to modern day? Once you start thinking about it, the ideas start rolling in. Feel free to invent special trinkets for them: or maybe trinkets that they hate and want to get rid of, trinkets that remind them of bad times. Trinkets that remind them of each other, or family, or war. So much meaning can be held in the things we own, and I think it’s such a lovely concept to explore!

Crossover

So this prompt was born from the sheer number of suggestions we had for various movie, TV, and book AUs. We didn’t want to put them all to the poll and risk a lot of you feeling disappointed over the one you wanted not being selected, so thought it’d work best to condense them into a ‘Crossover’ prompt so everyone could do whatever they liked. So this is a very very broad one! It would be impossible for me to really go through the prompt and highlight some things that you could do for it, because you can really do anything you want to! Anything! It encompasses movies, video games, TV, books, musicals... if something tells a story, you can do a crossover. So if there’s ever been a film/book/etc. AU you wanted to do for Sledgefu Week but couldn’t quite get it to match the prompts, now is the time!

Vacation

A pretty self explanatory prompt, and one that I think can appeal to people who prefer canonverse and those who like modern AU too! Do you want to send Snafu and Eugene on the holiday of their dreams, or are they gonna be bickering in a gas station over who gets control of the map? Is Snafu gonna drive across a couple states to surprise Eugene by visiting? Is Eugene gonna do the same? There’s a lot of scenarios you can apply to the backdrop of them vacationing, and a lot of emotional journeys you can take them through! And for the canonverse crowd, you have the extra addition of letting them go have fun on an R&R, or taking a road trip post-war, visiting 1950s Paris... you can really do whatever you like!

Historical

This was another prompt like ‘Crossover’ that came from a lot of various suggestions that all boiled down to a similar thing: different historical events or periods. So like Crossover, I won’t linger too long on it (this post is long enough already) except just to say again: do whatever you’re inspired to do! There’s no rules here, you could even take everyone out of the Pacific and put them over in Germany: give them a different experience of war. In fact, you can do that with any war if you wanted to! Wanna do a M*A*S*H AU but made something else for Crossover? You could do it here! Want to put them in the 1920s? You got it. In the 1850s? Yeehaw, they’re cowboys now. 1969, Summer of Love? 1600s, make Snafu a prince? Literally the world is your oyster!

Horror

Past Sledgefu Week prompts have included things that could come under the horror umbrella (Supernatural, for example) but didn’t necessarily have to be made 'horrific’. For the ‘Horror’ prompt this year, we want to see frightening! Disquieting, uncomfortable; creations that either cross over with existing horror franchises, or lean on horrific things you come up with yourself. Horror movies, or TV shows, or books or podcasts or pieces of art all seek to elicit a sense of fear: this can be done by tapping into common phobias, or nightmares, those things which are universally and almost instinctively scary. We want to see things which lean into that, in whatever way you want to do it! 

I’m no horror media expert (not by a long shot) but the opportunities for this prompt are really vast simply because horror has so many subgenres to work with. You could go gothic horror; Dracula, Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights (a personal favourite AU -- Eugene soaked out on the moors, searching for Heathcliff-Snafu? Divine). Or you could go to the opposite end of the spectrum: Jennifer’s Body AU, Final Girl AU -- there’s no set way to do horror, in fact you could even bring horror into canonverse if you don’t like AUs. Think the Terror: some unknown beast lurking beyond the borders of their camp on Pavuvu, or Okinawa. Or you could even take the prompt entirely literally and explore the horrors of war and the toll it takes on them both. Please don’t feel stuck into needing to do Scary: horror is about fear and revulsion and dread, and these feelings don’t necessarily need to come from a haunting! (This is also a prompt ripe for monsterfucking, just FYI).

                                                - - - - - - - - - -

So that’s the prompts for this year! They’re all really really great, and have a lot of potential to make some fantastic stuff :~) And to reiterate something I said right at the start, there are no rules here! I think every year we normally get at least one person unsure whether their idea will be okay for the prompt they’d like to make it for, so I just wanna say here: don’t second-guess yourself! As long as it can be linked back to the prompt in some way or another (can literally be the vaguest way possible) you’ll be absolutely fine. We don’t vet submissions at all, especially not for their content relating to the prompts. All we ask is that you remember to stay respectful in what you’re writing, and when the time comes to post it, you tag and warn appropriately :~)

On the subject of writing respectfully, we’d like to just take a moment to link the document on mindful writing re: race and gender that was made last year. Please take a look at it, even if you read it last year! It’s always good to keep these things at the front of your mind, as fandom is a community sport and we want to keep it fun and safe for everyone involved! So thank you if you’ve made it this far through this whole post, check out the doc, and enjoy the rest of the run-up to Sledgefu Week!

[assassinshadow17]

Alright people I had to because I’m lowkey scared at how the “shocking death” could go down. Here’s a tier-list of whoever is safe/in-danger of getting the ticket out of life. I tried to be as realistic as possible and who gives more to Ari’s life and how he could grow with/without them in his life, if they served the purpose for his development in the 1st book.

SAFE - Aristotle Mendoza, Legs Mendoza, Gina Navarro, Susie Byrd

Aristotle Mendoza - He’s literally the protagonist and its overall his story and how Dante helps him open up to love himself, and to love Dante. Unless if Ari’s own “shocking death” is himself and the description was to throw us off with turning the POV over to Dante(if that makes sense) Ari isn’t going anywhere but forward in life. 100% SAFE

Legs Mendoza - You may think, “but wouldn’t the dog be in most danger?” Well no, see if Legs would die, I’m not sure it could trigger Ari to have to “fight like never before” I love dogs and think they are so precious, but looking at Ari’s story, I don’t think it would be enough to set Ari in a “new” direction. Although a small chance Ben could do it just to be a dick lmao. 95% SAFE

Gina Navarro and Susie Byrd - I think these are 2 of Ari’s closest friends that help him at school and he secretly loves to talk to. But I don’t think they are developed enough in Ari’s life to cause a huge impact, unless if they going to receive that sort of treatment. But for now, I’m assuming they will take a sideline role and support Ari in his time of grief. 95% SAFE 

UNPREDICATBLE - Cassandra, Baby Quintana(Dante’s soon to be younger sibling) Sam Quintana, Soledad Quintana

Cassandra - Cassandra is a new character that is just noted from Ben himself. She’s probably going to be Ari and Dante’s close friend to them, but unless if the point of her presence is to give Ari a new meaning to life(Which still wouldn’t make sense to me) Then I don’t see how Ari would be that affected by her death, but if Ben wanted it to happen that way, who am I to stop him? We will have to see how her arc turns out. 85% SAFE

Baby Quintana - Once again, a new character in Ari’s life, but it seems he would be more beneficial to Dante’s story and have Dante grow as a person than Ari. Plus being a baby, not really much connection you could give besides loving them unconditionally, which Ari would do overall anyways. 85% SAFE

Sam Quintana - Sam is a cool dad and very inspirational character, much like Dante, he has Ari questioning how someone could be so nice in the world. He’s very loving of Dante and would die for his son, and by further extension, Ari. I think his death would give Ari a hit in life, but it seems it would be more for Dante’s growth as opposed to Ari’s.(Again, based on the description, this death seems to affect Ari the most.) Although it would be a shock factor and grow Ari to comfort Dante overall, which I could see Ben doing. 75% SAFE/LOW-CAUTION VULNERABLE

Soledad Quintana - Pretty much Ari’s reassurance that even she can see the love that Ari has for her son, Dante. Soledad has a huge role, as Ari’s mom(who we will get to soon) in having the boys learn to love themselves and have them take command of their lives, despite knowing that most of the world will be against them. Soledad loves Ari nearly as much as Dante, because he gives Dante such happiness. I could very well see this death affecting Ari a lot, but also, it seems it would benefit Dante’s arc more-so. So I don’t think Ben will go this route. However I see a viable reasoning if Ben did it. 60% MEDIUM-CAUTION VULNERABLE

DANGER - Liliana Mendoza, Jamie Mendoza

Lilliana Mendoza - I’m sorry to have Ari’s beautiful and much of a QUEEN mom here, but I have to look at the point of view. Lilliana has been Ari’s only comfort in his life really, his dad was never mentally present, and she reassured his existence in the world and has made him felt loved everyday. With also joking around with him like he hasn’t been depressed for most of his life. If Lilliana were to die, this would affect Ari the closest of both parents, he would feel lost, vulnerable, and to an even lower point of sadness than before the beginning of the 1st book. I could very well see Ben going this route and probably so far the most predicted of who would die and make Ari really figure out how to “form a life of his own joy” 20% SAFE/IN-DANGER

Jamie Mendoza - Okay, personally I think Ben will go this route and let me just say why. Jamie, Ari’s dad, has been out of Ari’s life for most of it. He would help Ari if he was sick, but really left his wife to most of the parenting. Not even caring if Ari stuck in the clubs that he wanted him in. But I think Jamie’s purpose has been delivered to Ari in showing Ari that he doesn’t have to be afraid of his love for Dante, he doesn’t have to let his past consume him and let him feel drowned just because he didn’t want to talk about it or open up. Jamie gave Ari the opening to go after Dante and made Ari realize his feelings. I see Ari being affected by his death because of the confusion he could feel, would Ari feel sad or angry that he never really knew his dad more? And would he move on so easily or feel guilty that he couldn’t somehow open his own dad up, when they were so alike and how they could have grew if Jamie had been present. I think this would get Ari thinking, and Dante could help him navigate his emotions through his dad’s lost. 10% SAFE/IN-DANGER

UNKNOWN/DEPENDENT DIRECTION OF AUTHOR - Dante Quintana

Dante Quintana - Look all, I’m so sorry he’s not in the safe zone, the way of the description.... I can’t put him there. I’m so heartbroken I even think this, but I really think it won’t happen if Ben decides the route that we would all dread. However I have to display this possible outcome.

Dante is literally the boy who saves Ari’s life, the one who made him realize the universe is beautiful and that him and Ari are the best couple in El Paso. He teaches him so much, how to read advance literature, swim, all sorts of games he makes up lmao. Dante makes Ari question everything he thought of the world, Dante has that impact and he has the impact to make Ari not remember literally saving his life against a moving car. Dante loves Ari to the universe and back, Ari does as well, literally would die for each other. But the way the description says “He’ll have to fight like never before to create a life” now get this at the end: “THAT IS TRUTHFULLY, JOYFULLY HIS OWN” I’m not getting good vibes from “HIS OWN” Idk, maybe I’m reading too much into it and I’m hoping to the freaking divines that Ben doesn’t go the route of Dante potentially..... you know, I don’t even want to say it. Dante is literally the 2nd main character and we also learn so much about him, but by that phrasing, I could see a direction in which Ben takes out Dante in a permanent sense to grow Ari like never before. Like Ari would literally have to find his own direction in the world, and he would take Dante’s knowledge and personality with him in his future, he would live for Dante as he would have wanted together. I just think it wouldn’t work well and Ari doesn’t need his literal soulmate to get taken away just for an “Edgy, or growthful arc” if that makes sense. If Ben goes this route, I may never forgive him tbh, I just couldn’t if he ruined our boys like this. 100% SAFE OR 100% MOST LIKELY CANIDATE TO TAKE DEATH. DEPENDENT ON AUTHOR’S DIRECTION.

Note: if Dante is taken, I will cry and that’s a promise.

Thank you if you read this long asf post, but hopefully it can entertain you! I’m so looking forward to this book and I hope the “loss” is meaningful and not some shock factor, but its Ben so I trust him enough to make a sequel to the masterpiece that we all loved in the first place!

[dindjarindiaries]

Dead to Me

summary: On the verge of death, Twila takes off Din’s helmet, later having to face his wrath and leave his ship—even though she’s pregnant with their unborn child. (requested by anon)

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!oc

warnings: blood, mentions of death/near-death, angst, fluff

rating: T

word count: 2.64k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

He’s dying. I’m gonna lose him. I can’t lose him.

These words play in the back of Twila’s mind like a sick song, tormenting her as she attempts to work quickly on the limp body in front of her. But it’s hard to fix a man who’s unconscious and unable to show his face—especially when it’s the man she loves.

Twila’s been a part of the Mandalorian’s crew for longer than she’s kept track of. It’s been hard to keep track when they’ve been running around the galaxy, anyway. She was meant to be a babysitter of sorts for the child, a caretaker for whenever the Mandalorian had to go on jobs. This quickly, however, turned into her being a caretaker for both of them. He had accepted this, and it made them grow even closer—so close that she was surprised she ever got so far. When she first met him, she never thought she’d be able to penetrate the beskar in any manner.

Now, she’s seen it all—everything except his face.

He even revealed his name. Din’s the name that rolls off her lips when Twila beckons him, when she tells him that she loves him, when she’s a victim of the pure pleasure in which they share. It’s beautiful to her: it’s become her personal chant of exquisite admiration, the word that encapsulates everything she cares for now. After living a lonely childhood spent in the Outer Rim with absent parents and many children in the village that she would care for, Twila’s finally found a family of her own that she can not only continue to care for but also receive the same attention in return. The child feels like one of her own, and Din feels like an extension of herself, a faithful companion.

He’s done a lot for her. He’s continued to risk his life on jobs to keep them supplied. He’s tried to teach her how to fight to help her fend for herself should she ever have to. He’s jumped in front of blaster shots for her.

And now, he may be dying for her.

Twila had been too careless during their venture into the marketplace. She hadn’t paid attention to their surroundings. When the hunter threw that detonator near her, she hadn’t even heard it. All she saw was Din shoving her aside before almost jumping on it himself to block her from the blow, resulting in him being tossed through the air and hard against the ground. He hasn’t moved on his own since.

Thankfully, Twila made sure he bought bacta spray the last time they supplied the med kit. She knows this would work on anything it needed to, but she’s come across a problem: she needs to spray it on his head. There’s blood trailed down the back of his neck, a sure sign of trauma done underneath the helmet. But she can’t; he’s told her this many times, and she’s understood. She’s never pressured him to break the Creed.

But what the hell kind of option does she have now?

He can’t die. Din doesn’t know it yet, but he has a future with her—one that’ll be undeniable. It started growing in her stomach not too long ago. After some strange bodily behaviors and curiosity, she’d found a way to test what was going on, and it came back just as she thought. She’s now expecting another child for them to look after on board. She’s been trying to figure out how to tell him. Now, she could be too late, and she can’t bear letting him die without even knowing the potential of what’s ahead of them.

Twila fights with herself repetitively, going back and forth on which choice to make. It’s a lose-lose situation: take off the helmet, forcing Din to break his Creed, or leave it on, which is letting him die. The worst part is she can’t even ask anyone for advice. She’s on her own.

With shaking hands, Twila makes her choice. She hopes it’s what he’d choose, too. Slowly, she reaches for the now-grimy helmet, her mind and heart moving at a mile a minute as she does so. They pause when they rest on the sides of the helmet, as if reconsidering everything once again.

He’ll hate you.

But he’ll die.

He wouldn’t want you to do this.

But you have to save him.

Twila suddenly hears the child coo beside her. Her head turns to look at him, and she sees him lay his tiny hand on her thigh in a comforting manner. His ears perk up at her as he tilts his head, as if trying to make her feel at ease. She nods, looking back at Din and finally beginning to pull the helmet up. Inch by inch, more of her love is revealed, and despite the gruesome circumstances of the situation, she finds her heart melting at the sight of everything she’s wanted to see—and the sheer beauty of it all.

Din’s skin is scratched and bloody, but behind it all, she can still see his handsome face. He’s not clean shaven, but also not terribly far from it, the small whiskers of hair sticking around chaotically from the blood. His lips are slightly parted, likely to allow his body some air in its unconscious state, and his delicate eyelids shield the color that lies behind them.

Twila releases a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, blinking a few times to clear her mind as she moves for the bacta spray. She sprays it generously on his bloody head, applying it until she’s sure she’s gotten every spot she needs to. Once she sets it aside, she begins to work on his cuts, gently cleaning the blood away and applying whatever creams and gels are necessary to get the healing process working quickly.

The bacta spray works fast, and just as she finishes clearing the blood, she sees Din’s eyes flutter open. His dark gaze observes Twila through hooded eyelids, as if they’re too heavy for him to open all the way just yet. Her heart races at the eye contact, as she’s never truly gotten to have it before—and it feels as if the rest of her soul is finally being entwined with his. She warmly welcomes the window into her heart, hoping she’ll be able to see his in return.

“Cyar’ika?” Din’s weak voice offers, as if he’s trying to confirm what he’s seeing.

Twila nods tearfully. “I’m here, Din.” She places both of her hands over one of his gloved ones.

Din almost begins to smile, causing her heart to leap, but it quickly fades. It’s replaced with an expression that makes her skin crawl at the pure horror he shows. He blinks a few times, his eyes finally widening to a normal size. “You—You’re so clear—.” Din cuts himself off, his free hand touching his head. When his gloved fingers brush against the bare skin on his temple instead of his helmet, his brow instantly furrows in a menacing manner. “Where’s the helmet?”

Twila widens her own eyes, seized by the terror of what he’ll do now. “It’s right here,” she assures him, gesturing to the helmet on the floor of the ship beside her. “I’m sorry, Din, I know I’m not supposed to, but I didn’t know how else—.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Din’s voice is low and sounds practically like a growl. Twila jumps back a bit upon hearing it, releasing his hand as she does so. “You knew. I told you.”

Her eyes continue to tear up in her desperation, and she feels the child grip her leg tighter at her evident distress. “You were dying, Din.” Her voice is hauntingly quiet. “I couldn’t just let that happen to you. I—I had to at least try to save you.”

Din’s silent for a moment, his jaw clenched as his gaze pierces through her in a hostile manner. Twila feels herself beginning to shake again in fear. “No, you didn’t. You…” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling as if he can’t handle looking at her anymore, “… you should’ve let me die.”

A hot tear runs down her cheek as she grits her own teeth, trying to plead her case. “How? How could I have done that, Din? You know how much you mean to me, to the kid! You expected me to just sit here and let you die in front of both of us?”

“How many times have I told you, Twi, that this is what could happen? And how many times did you assure me that it’d be okay, that you understood?” Din looks back at Twila, his dark gaze losing all traces of light as it looks upon her almost menacingly. “Clearly, you didn’t.”

Twila shakes her head in an utter loss for words. When she thinks of some, they’re not useful, but it’s all she can manage. “I’m sorry, Din. I’m so sorr—.”

“Don’t call me that.” Din spits the words like venom. His hands, stronger now from the fast-working bacta spray, reach for his helmet and slip it back over his head. “It’s Mando.”

Another tear escapes her eye as Twila gives another shake of her head in desperation. “Please don’t do this. I just—I couldn’t live without you.” When Din says nothing in response, she continues to ramble. “I guess… I guess I’d rather have you alive and hating me than have you be dead.”

Din’s still quiet for a moment, but when he speaks, Twila’s sure she feels every single vein of her heart being ripped away piece by piece. “It’s a shame. Now you’re the one who’s dead to me.”

Twila lets a hand cover her mouth to keep the sobs tucked in. He can’t see her fall apart like this. She’s brought it upon herself. When she regains some of her composure, she swallows hard, looking around the ship. “I understand.”

Din tilts his helmet at her. “Then start packing.”

Twila looks back to Din with disbelief. “What?”

“If you understand, then you’ll get what this means. You betray my trust, then you can’t be a part of my crew.”

She stops trying to hold back the tears. They fall as steady as rainwater from the dark cloud that now surrounds her mind and heart. “Your crew? Is that all I am, now? What about all we had?”

Din’s stiff for a moment, and when he speaks, it’s cold. “You should’ve thought about that before you stripped my identity from me. Someone who truly loves me would never do that.”

Twila chokes on a sob, biting her lip to try to keep it hidden. She decides to say nothing, knowing her words of denial would only go in one of his ears and out the other. Twila’s never had many belongings, feeling that she didn’t need much other than her two companions, and everything suddenly feels so empty as she collects whatever she has into the pouch she’d purchased at a marketplace on one of the first planets she’d stopped at with Din. With a heavy sigh, she heads for the hatch, seeing Din now standing with the child in his arms. She gives them a weary smile.

“You should know that no matter what you might think because of this, Din, I love you.”

Twila sees Din clench one of his fists. “Leave.”

She refuses to budge, knowing this may be the last time she ever gets to talk to him. “I’ll always be in love with you, and I’ll always keep myself tied to you. You’re always—”

“I said, leave.”

“—going to be with me, no matter how far away you try to run. I’ll always have a piece of you with me, forever.”

“Leave!”

At the sound of his yelling, which she’s never heard directed towards her, something snaps within her, and she retaliates with the same amount of emotional hostility. “We’re going!” Her burning eyes finally turn away indignantly, and she reaches for the button on the hatch when Din’s voice makes her stop.

“’We?’”

Twila’s eyes widen upon realizing what she’s accidentally revealed. Her hand falls slowly back to her side, and she turns around to see that Din’s put the child back on the floor and is now facing her with a tilted helmet. She takes a heavy breath, her nerves spiking as she stares at his visor. “Yes. We.” Twila rests a hand on her stomach, which hasn’t started showing quite yet. “I saved you not only because I love you, but because I wanted you to be able to meet your future child. But don’t worry, we’re going.”

She turns back around and opens the hatch, feeling her heart race quickly as it lowers slowly onto the ground. Her gaze is burning again with tears, but she blinks them back. Twila understands why she has to leave, that she broke his trust—and for a man of his lifestyle, you can’t have someone around who does that—but it still pains her. However, before she’s even able to take a step down the ramp, a gloved hand stops her by wrapping around her arm. She looks over her shoulder, seeing Din standing just behind her. His hand falls from her arm, and instead he falls—his knee just barely catching him as he practically collapses to the ground. His shoulders heave as sounds like sobs come through his modulator, a sound Twila’s never heard from him before. It twists her heart in the worst way as she instantly kneels in front of him.

“Hey, hey,” Twila soothes gently, worried by his utterly weakened composure. She forgets the ferocity with which he’d treated her just moments before, only feeling the caretaker side as she places her hands on his shoulders. “Breathe, Din. Are you alright?”

His hands reach back towards his helmet, and Twila’s shocked to see him lifting it back up and over his head. Din throws it to the side, hearing it clang! against the metal floor as it hits it—hard. His dark eyes are glistening with tears as they look at her, his cheeks wet and his lips trembling as he stares at her for a few speechless moments. “I… can’t do this.” Din pauses, swallowing hard as he tries to find words. “If I have a child coming into this world, I can’t live like this anymore.” He takes her hands in his own, pulling them to his chest as he looks deep in her gaze. “Please stay.”

Twila nods right away, giving him a small smile. “We will, Din.” She bites back tears, looking at him with all the true emotion she can muster. “I’m so sorry. I—.”

“No need, cyar’ika.” Din comes closer to her, until—for the first time ever—his lips brush over hers, sending a feeling through her like nothing before. “I love you, no matter what.” Knowing how she feels, he doesn’t give her a chance to answer before he places his lips fully against hers, causing everything around her to melt away as she absorbs the sweet and relieving feeling she’s always craved. He only pulls away to lean his forehead against hers, finally showing her the smile she’s been picturing in her mind all this time. “Both of you.”

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

[sepublic]

Willow’s Unwanted Fan

While I don’t exactly think the two would be healthy unless after plenty of development... I am imagining Willow VERY hesitantly giving Boscha a chance as just an acquaintance, and... maybe Boscha makes an offhand remark or feels some frustration at Willow, who has it so easy in becoming popular once she applies herself because of how innately talented she is, how lucky she is- And meanwhile Boscha had to work so hard for fame.

Of course, Boscha doesn’t realize what this says about how toxic the coven system is, and how unfair it is because some people ARE blessed better than others; And the idea that people who are less well-off than others only have a lack of effort on their part to blame, is a faulty assumption that she defaults to, to justify cruelty and superiority. In the end, there’s a lot more to success than just hard work, there are plenty of factors that you just can’t control, so maybe a lack of success by others isn’t something you can fault them for...

Maybe Boscha accuses Willow of being ungrateful, of taking for granted the kind of power she has as a popular witch at school, citing some examples -such as herself- of how other kids really struggle to achieve this sort of fame... And Willow needs to recognize that she has a privilege, a luxury that she really needs to take advantage of and make the most of; She’s got a lot of potential, and Boscha just wants to help Willow achieve that!

Kind of like a parallel to how some kids feel pressured by parents and teachers to pursue major accomplishments in academia because of their potential, when really they’re content with the humble goal they normally desire... Perhaps Boscha will try to vicariously live out her lost power, or at least a talent and level of achievement she never had/will have, through Willow- Maybe repeating what her mother tries to do with her, even! And this’d be a particularly horrifying revelation to Boscha, who doesn’t seem to treat her mother with much respect and maybe even sees her as someone to avoid being like...

In addition, maybe Boscha is trying to replace Amity as a friend by having Willow as the powerful witch that Boscha looks up to and emulates... Though in this scenario, Boscha is almost consciously trying to mold Willow into that specific image of what she wants her role model to be, whereas with Amity she was mostly just projecting, and not recognizing Amity’s actual personality. I could see Boscha trying to get petty revenge against Amity, by making Willow so much more popular and cooler than she had ever been, especially since Willow is apparently more talented than the Blight girl,

So just as her mother uses Boscha’s achievement to show up Odalia and her kid, Boscha uses Willow to show up Amity by basically bragging about how her new friend is so much better; How Boscha is GLAD Amity left her, so the Blight girl is no longer holding her down, and Boscha can actually hang out with people who deserve it... And similarly, Amity is missing out on so much potential that Boscha could’ve supported her in reaching (just as Amity left Grudgby), and it’s all her loss!

Boscha finds an unusual resignation in not being the best, so she settles for latching onto the actual best, and making the most of them to spite those she feels ‘didn’t appreciate her enough’. Boscha is basically trying to convert Willow to be more like her, so she can actually live with Willow being better than her, and thus validate her own beliefs in a very roundabout way, by having the ‘best’ (AKA Willow) agree with them!

She can have Willow validate Boscha’s own choices and values in life, by making Willow reach the same ones... And so Boscha can have a role model who she looks up to, but also a friend who basically tells her that what she’s doing is right, and that Boscha isn’t doing anything wrong! Boscha doesn’t want to consider or self-reflect, she just wants someone to look up to, by providing a flattering world-view that isn’t challenging and only confirms what Boscha already believes in.

Regardless, Willow senses some toxicity brewing and she nopes out of there entirely, and/or completely shuts down Boscha’s train of thought. I think Boscha and Willow could have a very interesting dynamic later down the line, especially in regards to how Willow is possibly becoming more popular than Boscha, and having her greater magical strength acknowledged, particularly begrudgingly by Boscha herself... Although I hesitate to say that there’d be an outright positive relationship between the two, much less actual romance.

Goodness, what if Boscha was SO desperate to have some validation of her old role and beliefs, that she just... goads Willow into attacking her, under the satisfaction that if Willow beats her up, then it justifies her hierarchy of stronger witches being above the weaker ones! And even after being defeated, Boscha just trails behind Willow because she’s really accepting any retaliation as self-punishment for not being strong enough; That maybe she becomes SO devoted to the idea of a role model or a leader that she can follow, that she actively revels in being hurt because it’s part of some really sick and twisted concept of ‘suffering builds character’!

What I’m basically saying is, what if Boscha was like Jasper towards Lapis in Alone at Sea, fully accepting of any abuse from Lapis, because Lapis is SO strong that she’s fully justified in thrashing a weaker Jasper, and it gives Jasper some martyrdom satisfaction to serve and provide for someone who’s so much better than her, especially if it means having any taste or association of the kind of power she looks up to! Maybe Boscha just accepts, if not embraces, any retaliation from Willow as proof of her belief that strong witches should be above the weaker ones, etc., thereby validating Boscha’s loss because all IS right in the hierarchy, it just shifted!

Maybe Boscha even enjoys being hurt, because deep down it plays into some possible self-loathing at losing to Willow, while also acknowledging Willow’s victory and strength... And she keeps picking fights with Willow no matter how badly she gets hurt, because Boscha believes that with each battle, she’ll get better and better and maybe one day defeat the Park girl, so any injuries she suffers on the way are totally justifiable if it means getting back on top!

And Willow is in a dilemma where she can’t just smack Boscha away, because she doesn’t want to contribute towards that belief and justify it... She hates Boscha and won’t help her, but generally refuses to take the next step in harming the girl by entrenching her in her own ideas. Maybe we’d have a scene similar to Lapis taking her rage out on the other Lapises and thrashing them, reveling in her power over them; Only to realize that this isn’t strength, it’s just tyranny. And just as Lapis rejects Nice Lapis’ worship by admitting that her own retaliation went too far, maybe Willow does the same to Boscha...

...Of course. Even if Willow doesn’t want to outright harm Boscha, nor does she want to give her any satisfaction by playing by her game and rules; If Boscha were to threaten any of her friends, of course she’d punt Boscha into the stratosphere, no guilt nor hesitation. Because in that kind of situation, it’s just a pragmatic scenario of self-defense, where physical safety is prioritized above any ‘principles’ or ‘points’ that are trying to be made here. And Boscha is just someone Willow is going to have ignore, kick aside, and not waste time nor energy in... That yeah, if Willow hurts Boscha to defend herself, that sucks, especially if it contributes to Boscha’s toxic beliefs; But in the end, Willow’s own comfort is prioritized above all-else, and it’s Boscha engaging with Willow, that makes Willow’s happiness come at the cost of Boscha’s own recovery.

Boscha only has herself to blame for Willow choosing a painful option in that ultimatum, because she’s the one that set it down to begin with- Like when she made her friends choose between Boscha and King-Luz, and not letting them be content with both. Or of course, when Boscha makes the school choose between herself, or Willow... When both can be popular and beloved, this isn’t a pie to divvy up! Willow just might beat up Boscha regardless of whether or not she’s playing into the girl’s point or not, because Willow’s comfort comes before proving Boscha wrong- And it’s this apathetic disregard, that it’s meaningless to Willow whether or not Boscha is vindicated, that she’d rather not be bothered by the problem to begin with... That will show Boscha just how pointless her efforts have been, and how little they mean in the end.

If Boscha sometimes dismisses things or people as being ‘beneath’ her, then she’s about to be on the receiving end by none other than Willow Park herself...! It’s Willow’s out of sight, out of mind principle- Unintentionally playing by the game or not, it’s all inconsequential and interchangeable, it just. Doesn’t. Matter. Willow has more important things to worry about, because Boscha isn’t important, and she’ll do what she needs to do to get Boscha out of the way and out of her hair so she can focus on what Willow REALLY cares about. 

And knowing how little she actually means to some, that she’s not the center of other people’s world like Boscha wanted to believe, that Willow certainly has no place for her that isn’t an afterthought; It would be quite the wake-up call. People have lives beyond Boscha, they don’t need her and thus they aren’t obligated to her; So don’t act like they are, Boscha, and don’t act like you can change this and force them to reciprocate by ‘earning’ that right in a challenge they never agreed to.